The Red Rider
by eloquentlyinsane
Summary: The tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN.
1. Prologue, Inheritance

**_The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena. Dark; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN._**

_Hey guys hey! So this is something new I'm trying...tell me what you think _:)

_xoxo —ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

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><p><em>Prologue, Inheritance<em>

I was told that Selena loved Morzan deeply. That she was able to look past his faults, his evil and anger, that he was one of the Forsworn. Of course, his charisma and handsome features still unmarred by countless battles probably turned the tides in his favor. She left everything behind in her hometown for him—family, promises, any hope of a secure future.

I was also assured that he loved her, at least for a while.

Perhaps her simple background and similar nature soothed him from the exhausting intrigue of the Riders and Forsworn drama and drew him to her. However, her charm and quick wit must have kept him interested for she soon grew to have just as villainous a reputation to the Varden as he.

But while the two were together, nothing seemed too large to conquer—not the Riders, not the Dragons, not even Galbatorix—except me. I was the chink in his armor, the flaw in their plan, the thorn.

She traveled with him for three years, through thick and thin, until the evidences of his affection started to show. He spirited her off to his castle – a hovel compared to where Galbatorix suited himself.

The pregnancy was unknown to everyone, except Galbatorix, of course: nothing could be shielded from him. So from the moment I was conceived, I was illicit. Shunned, hidden due to shame though they called it caution. Truthfully, Morzan disliked me for being his weak link and Selena's tragic flaw. As a Rider and one of the undefeatable Forsworn he considered himself beyond petty weaknesses.

Morzan knew the dangers of children and the changes he saw in Selena angered him. He restricted her access to me because, in his eyes, maternity in a woman weakened her. And as his power waxed, his love waned. She had become indispensable to the Forsworn cause and to him. He used me to control her.

And yet, I never knew my mother, the Black Hand as she was known to her enemies and allies alike. She was simply a figure to me, a face to fill the position, a person at which to direct the emotions. I was taken from her bosom at a young age and passed on to a nurse.

-x-

"Murtagh, come here."

He turned to violence and drink, the latter usually after the former. The only heirlooms I received from my father were injury and insult. I took care not to antagonize him. Father though he was, I was no favorite of his.

"Murtagh!"

I stayed where I was, eying him from across the room. I was perceptive for a young age and usually aware of his moods. Selena watched him cautiously, as I played in her arms.

"Do not speak to him when you are this way, Morzan."

He leapt to his feet, weaving only slightly. "Do not instruct me on how to deal with my own brood, Selena!" He sneered at her. "Black Hand? Black Widow is more fitting. You fill his ears with venomous lies of me."

"I do not. Why would I try to estrange a son from his father?"

"Why does he fear me then?" He raged. I cowered in her arms, and he gestured wordlessly at the two of us.

"If only you would not drink that vile substance in front of him."

"Silence, woman!" He snarled. He came toward us and tore me out of her grasp.

She, too, leapt to her feet. "Morzan, let go of him! You are not with your senses."

"I will take a hand in his growth now. I will show him to be a man, like his father. No son of mine will cower in his mother's skirts…"

"He is only three!" She pleaded. Then, she mumbled something and the air around me began to glow. But almost immediately, the glow disappeared.

Morzan laughed brazenly. "Pathetic," he jeered. "Do not test me, Selena. You were never a match for me in magic." He grabbed my arm and knelt down so that our faces were level. "Still afraid of your father, boy?" He asked me, spirit on his breath—in his soul, too, perhaps. (He was easily perverse enough to be a Shade.)

I began to cry, afraid, as I had always been, of him.

"Ha! See, this boy is not mine. No spawn of mine is a coward. Tell me, Selena, did you stray? After you promised me that your love for me was unlike anything you knew. After I slew anyone who merely glanced in your direction lewdly?"

She smiled, indulging his temper. "How can you think that, Morzan? He could only be yours." Whenever Morzan was intoxicated by mead, she plied him for favors—more time with me, a separate room for her, her own steed, eldunarí of her own. "You test him too much. Let him grow. Let me raise him to become you."

"Not mine, this filth staining my floors."

He threw me from him and I landed on the stone floor, my cries renewed. Selena started toward me, but Morzan warned her with a look to stay back. She realized now that this game was dangerous for me.

"I shall end this heresy, this testament to your bad character." He unsheathed his sword and spoke several words aloud, red in the face either due to the mead or rage. "Look at him. Thin as a stick. Starved of a mother's affection and a father's love – of course he is mine." He rushed toward me, his sword aloft, the blade incandescent with heat, and sliced at me.

At the same time, Selena screamed, words that meant nothing to me but had effect all the same. Lights flashed, Morzan fell. The glowing sword fell with a clatter beside him. I shrieked futilely as my mother hovered over me. Eventually, the pain lessened, or perhaps I lost consciousness.

And so, her love turned to hatred.

Perhaps she even rejoiced when Brom cut him in two.

Either way, she vanished without a trace. No one paid any mind to me; none comforted me for my loss. I was the sole reminder to his Black Hand—ineffaceable, living proof. He shunned me to her wing of the castle and I saw little of him from then own, not that I minded.

Morzan grew disconsolate and furious. The fate of the Forsworn seemed tenuous. I had heard several names being dropped: Vrael, Brom, Saphira, eldunarí…Galbatorix and Morzan argued day and night, with the former always winning, predictably.

Then, without prelude, she returned, stealing into the castle by her swain's absence. But she could not have been more different. My once, loving and carefree mother seemed burdened by more than the other child she had borne far away.

Before I could properly accustom myself to her appearance, she was gone. This time, forever. The magicians swore they had tried everything while ironically, her two paramours, battling each other for namely her, had decided fate, too. If she and Morzan were a match realized in the stars, nothing stood between them now.

Upon her return, she had seen to me, but the sight of my face only made her weep and grieve. Clearly, I reminded her of the love she had lost. And that the fate of her second child was left to the gods. Or was it the sad fact that my fate was sealed and she could not save me that devastated her?

As the son of a Forsworn, that too, the violent and twisted Morzan; within arm's swing of Galbatorix; against the backdrop of a revolution and uprising between the Riders and the chaos rendered by their enemies—how could I have avoided my future?

I was a victim of fate, and had been since the day I was born.

This was my inheritance.

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><p><em><strong>Review! Pretty please?<strong>_


	2. Chapter 1, Naïveté

_**The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena. Dark; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN.**_

_This chapter is dedicated to KIM-ONKA and RestrainedFreedom! They wrote me the sweetest reviews, giving me the kick in the butt I needed to put my writing gears into drive. Thank you so much!_

_Sorry, I know that was really short for a first chapter, but it was really more of an introduction. I've never really written anything major except Twilight fanfiction, so this is all very new to me. So basically, this is the Inheritance Cycle in Murtagh's POV. And if you make it to the end with me :D you will be treated to a little (a lot) creative licensing, haha. So stick around (please).  
><em>

_And definitely let me know: should I stick to the shallow plot bunnies of Twilight or can I continue to try my hand at something slightly tougher and deeper?_

_xoxo —ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

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><p><em>Chapter 1, Naïveté<em>

I should have seen it coming.

There were clues, so many signs left unread, admonitions calmly unheeded.

I would have treasured my innocence.

And yet, how could I have known the man I would be forced to become? He had defeated the Riders, certainly the ignorant son of his right-hand man was no challenge. How I reveled in his attention, unaware that my childhood would disappear in the blink of an eye, never to return. Perhaps as the son of his closest, but by no means _close,_ friend Morzan he saw me as the progeny he never had.

And for that, I had the weight of Tornac on my shoulders forever.

Galbatorix never did anything without a specific goal or target in mind. And most of the time, he didn't bother to convince anyone. Why should he be bothered to, if by force he could bring all of civilization to its knees?

How could I have thought that he merely had a whimsy to indulge? But here they were: whimsies by the cartload.

A dazzling hand-and-half sword, nothing in comparison to the magic-imbibed sword of my father, of course, but a weapon well-suited for my style of sword combat: light and yet effective enough to deliver a fatal blow.

Ornamental and protective mail; possibly dwarf-made.

He had even sent a woman.

Tornac, of course, sent her away. Not that I would quite know what to do. Growing up around Galbatorix and Tornac, women perplexed me. They lacked the straightforward logic that I used. Ruled by flight, mercurial emotions and passions too numerous to gauge—I was better off without them.

We marveled at the gifts.

Tornac and I dueled before we sat down to dine and duly, he, too, was impressed by Galbatorix' largesse. But unlike me, he wasn't as quick to accept the King's munificence. "Murtagh, be wary of his intentions, for they are rarely kind to anyone else."

How could I have not recognized the sly face of danger? The cunning promises and ties entangled in the generosity of the gifts.

I laughed openly in his face. "Tornac, you worry too much. You are going to grow old and gray before your due time."

So we made light of the rich meal, enjoying the mature mead and traded stories from the days of the Riders. My day of birth was done justice and I felt ready to accept the burden of manhood that would be thrust upon my shoulders.

Tornac paused in his stories. "Do you remember when I first taught you to arm yourself?"

"Of course." I laughed lightly. "In those first few years there was more bruised skin on my body than fair." We laughed.

"How many scars does you mind bear, Murtagh?"

"Nothing that can't heal." I laughed. Morzan had been all but forgotten in the years since his death. He had been my father in only name. He never replaced Tornac who had raised me.

My mind, at least, had always been my own. The anguish Morzan and my mother had left, branded in my youthful psyche had receded to vestiges. They were mere effigies where due sentiments were directed.

A servant entered the room as the meal was cleared away and silently offered a piece of parchment to me. It bore the royal seal.

I unraveled it and read it aloud to Tornac: "The King requires your presence at dinner this night. His royalty wishes to celebrate the eighteenth year of your birth in a fashion fitting with your origins and circumstance." I grinned.

Tornac's visage darkened. "Murtagh, this has the stench of the King all around it." He took the parchment and studied it carefully, as if reading invisible ink. "This is not just a courtesy, he has designs on you."

"Must you be so cynical, Tornac?"

"You are not a child anymore, Murtagh," Tornac snapped. "Understand the potential for disaster at work here."

I bit back a brusque retort. "Unfortunately, the only way to determine his plans is to go."

"Of course, go we must." Tornac sighed. "There is no question of refusing his invitation. I would not risk irritating him enough to invite his presence here."

With little preparation, we called for our typical armaments: Tornac his favorite sword and I with my new sword and my old yew bow. We both carried daggers. Galbatorix would pay our arms little mind no doubt – what harm could they do to him?

We rode for little under a half-hour. I lived in the castle, yes, but in the expanse far beyond where the King was sequestered. I had to ride through the city to come before the main stronghold.

As we entered the city of Urû'baen, a chill fell over me. I glanced at Tornac and he, too, seemed troubled. Perhaps it was because it had so long since I had ventured from my home, or simply that Urû'baen was unfamiliar to me, close as it was, I had never bothered to visit regularly.

There were soldiers everywhere. The denizens moved with a caution and shyness that seemed more suited for a refugee camp than an urban center.

As our horses slowed to a canter, I glanced at one of the soldiers standing at attention near a street corner. His eyes did not meet mine. He simply scanned the air before him, almost mechanically. His eyes seemed blank – as if his mind were empty.

Mindless devotion to his cause. To the king.

We rode on in the city in a moment, the castle loomed before us. Vast, glittering, and portentous. It reminded me of the Beor Mountains, not that I had ever seen them, but the same idea occurred here, that the tips of the turrets seemed to blend into the evening sky, belying the true extent of the castle.

A rumble came from the castle and my horses nickered nervously.

"Did no one feed the dragon this night?" He joked playfully.

I laughed, with no real humor. Though I was loathe to admit it, Tornac's admonition was weighing heavily on my mind with every ominous sign that we encountered.

After presenting the invitation, we were admitted into the castle, our steeds were settled into the stables. We were seated in an entertainment area to wait. The first thing I noted about Galbatorix's castle was the obvious lack of servants. Our quarters, though smaller, was always bustling with the activity of the maids and men who tended to us.

The structure stood so unnaturally still.

I scanned the room. There were scores of paintings: dragons, Riders, famous sieges, the stray elf or dwarf. There were many of Galbatorix, and, of course, Morzan. Also Vrael and Brom. I suppose, though he defeated them, the King had a grudging respect for the power and strength of his enemies.

Finally, a young maiden came in to invite me to dine.

Tornac stood up to follow and she hesitated. "The king wishes to dine with Lord Murtagh alone." She said, without looking at Tornac.

He frowned. "Murtagh is my charge. I am responsible for him. I am sure _the king_," he said this with a mocking edge. "will be obliged that I am so vested in Murtagh's plans."

"With all due respect, my lord had specifically asked for Lord Murtagh to dine – alone. We can, of course, accommodate you to dine separately." She spoke civilly, but firmly.

"Go tell your king –" Tornac began heatedly, but I interrupted him.

"Tornac, I will have dinner with him myself."

"No, Murtagh," Tornac brushed my reply aside. "I must be present. Who knows what Galbatorix wants? There needs to be someone there to understand the weight of your conversation. You are too young to understand."

I cast a half-glance at the maiden. She looked very uncomfortable, but entirely determined to carry out her master's orders.

"No, Tornac."

"Murtagh –"

"I am a man now, am I not? I can make my own decisions."

"Murtagh, listen to reason. Galbatorix is far more intelligent than you or I could ever imagine. He will manipulate you to obey him. You need me there to deflect his designs."

"_Enough_." I said the word quietly, but it bore the shocking effect of a whip across his face. "Do not antagonize me, Tornac. You are acting absurdly and embarrassing me in front of the King. You are not my father so be courteous. I can handle Galbatorix. I am no child to be toyed with. I will see you after dinner."

_First the pride, then the fall.  
><em>

With that, I followed the maiden.

She led me through several hallways and doors, at a speed that confused me and disoriented me—after dinner, I would have no way to leave without help, or permission.

She paused finally before a gilded door and curtsied. "Lord Murtagh, his highness, the King." She pushed the door open and I stepped inside.

-x-

I immediately glanced up at the ceiling. The room was so vast that I could barely make out the ceiling. The towering heights took my breath away. This was clearly to accommodate for his dragon. As the only dragon in Alagaësia, it was only fair that his every desire be catered to.

Slow applause scattered my thoughts.

My eyes found the sole figure seated at the head of the table laden with so much food that it shamed the rich meals we were served. Behind him hung a vast, shimmering black curtain, that wavered ever so gently in an invisible, untraceable breeze.

He rose and gestured for me to approach him.

It had been several years since I had the occasion to see Galbatorix, but he remained unchanged. His glossy black hair hung to his shoulder, shrouding his face. The familiar black dragon-skin cloak hung from his shoulders. His dark eyes shone intelligently. He stood, taller than I by several inches. This was no titular king gone to seed. He was a Rider, still at the height of his prime. He stood, broad-shouldered, his frame lean but wiry and well-built. A thin beard framed his face.

"Murtagh Morzansson."

He spoke quietly, though his words always seem to reverberate throughout the room. And no matter what he said, they conveyed a seductive warmth.

"My lord," I bowed formally.

"Let us forget the niceties, Murtagh. This is a dinner between two friends." He motioned for me to be seated. Two servants appeared from the shadows and served us dutifully. With a slight motion from the King, they vanished.

"You remind me of your father, Murtagh," He said finally after we had begun to dine. His words broke the brook of tension that had built up in the room. All of Tornac's warnings had made me almost beside myself with anxiety.

"You flatter me, sir."

"No, I knew Morzan from our youth. He, too, had the same energy, the same passion. He wanted to accomplish great things. He did, of course. But he might have done more had he not met your mother." He mused.

I didn't know what to say so I stuffed my face to hide under the pretense of not speaking with my mouth full.

"Of course, if that were the case, you would not be here before me. So perhaps, it was better. I never found femininity intriguing myself. I had my indulgences, of course, but they present too many quandaries, are too fraught with emotion, too much misguided passion." He raised his chalice of wine to me. "Frailty, thy name is woman," he toasted.

In a moment of clarity, I realized the maiden he had sent for me had been a test. And unwittingly, thanks to Tornac's interference, I had passed. Would I have succeeded by myself?

"It is a pity that your father was slew before our dreams could be realized," he continued. I couldn't say I agreed with him there, so I remained silent. "We had a great vision. The two of us, together, proponents of our cause."

"Has it not been achieved?" I asked, unable to contain myself. "The Riders are gone and you control the Empire – what more is there to do?"

He laughed; it was a wild sound. The curtain behind him fluttered more distressedly than before and with a gasp and a jolt of terror that made me clutch the table in fear, I realized what I had thought to be a curtain was actually the reposed body of a black dragon.

Galbatorix noticed the change in my demeanor. "Ah, yes. Shruikan, you've finally noticed him?" Then, far left of the curtain behind the King, there was a rustle of movement and an eyelid the size of a boulder blinked, revealing a vast blue-grey iris the color of ice and just as horrifically cold, with a vertical pupil like a cat's.

Shruikan growled and the sound was nearly deafening. This was what I had heard outside the castle.

"He's upset," the King continued calmly. "We've interrupted his meditation."

Even as he spoke, I could not take my eyes off the gargantuan dragon, especially his eyes—the one I could see. He had ceased snarling, but there was an uncontained fury in his eye. Such anguish, such pain, such a profound unhappiness that I sensed if Galbatorix stopped for one moment monitoring him he would destroy everything in his path until he reached the sky and never come down.

"At ease, Shruikan," he murmured. His voice soothed the labored, incensed breathing of the beast. Shruikan glared at me for a moment longer until he blinked and settled again into silent repose.

"The war took a toll on him," Galbatorix said thoughtfully. "We think physical wounds are greatest agony, but with time, they vanish. The wounds in your mind, the unbearable scars, those are the ones that perpetually torment us." He glanced at me. "But I'm sure you are no stranger to that pain, Murtagh."

"I beg your pardon?"

"As great a man as your father was, he was not meant to be a father, nor a lover. And therein lay his destined demise. Black hand? Black widow, indeed."

The words stirred me.

"That is why, you alone can succeed where he failed, Murtagh. You alone have the capacity that he had as well as the reason and rationality he lacked. Together, we could make the dream a reality. Unstoppable we would be."

"What dream?"

"Imagine an Alagaësia free from torment – no want, no terror, no danger from outside threat. We would become a cultured society. The war where we lost our humanity could the be solution to recapturing it: we could re-gather our ancestry and celebrate our people. We would eliminate the lesser roles and become a society of artists, philosophers, and warriors."

"Isn't that what the Riders established?"

"The Riders?" Galbatorix sneered derisively. "They were a group of old fools, gone to seed on the cushioned thrones of privilege and long-lost power. They were drunk on their priviledge – they gave the Dragon Rider a corrupt and meaningless name. They needed to be replaced. If society is not moving forward, it is regressing and they did nothing to stop it."

This was true. There had been no action during their regime. The celebrated epic battles that raconteurs and bards told were centuries old, the names mere myths now.

"We would unite all the people and embrace one uniform race, a perfect union – and to safeguard the peace, a new order of Riders. We could have a beautiful utopia. Tell me, Murtagh, how unparalleled does that sound?"

I did not answer immediately, spellbound as I was by the vision he had created, the way his words sounded like melodic poetry.

"But how?" I finally managed to say.

"We are powerful, Murtagh, with the power to introduce the grand change necessary to begin this alluring future. But with our immense power, we also have immense responsibility to act for the greater good. To use our influence to wrought the change as we see fit. We will be the icons of a new Empire."

"I am not powerful," I said slowly. "I am merely a Lord of a castle, and that too, in title. You alone have this power you are alluding to."

"Murtagh," He chuckled. "You are the son of a powerful Rider. You are the godson of an undefeatable ruler. Your origins mark you for greatness – no, they demand remarkable things of you."

"I did not know you were my godfather." I finally met his gaze—I had been avoiding it all night. His eyes burned with an unnatural intensity that made me uneasy.

"Yes, it was one of the few paternal sentiments Morzan had. It is why I carefully supported you for these last eighteen years, and why it only makes sense that I extend this hand of friendship to you. You are following in your father's footsteps, Murtagh, accomplishing what he could not. Proving yourself as a man. And what better way to start your work than your entrance into manhood?"

It all seemed too good to be true. Everyone I had ever met, with the obvious exception of Morzan, had characterized Galbatorix as a ruthless, omnipotent, insane tyrant. Standing before him, I saw only a man driven by a dream, and a noble one at that. I saw none of the insanity that Oromis or Vrael saw. In fact, he seemed more rational than anyone I had met.

And yet, I could not so easily discount all the blood he had shed to bring himself here. The dragons, their Riders – my father and mother. How many families he had broken? He would stop at nothing to achieve his dream.

_So would it not be better to be on his side?_

It would protect me and perhaps I could eventually exercise some influence unto him, change him minutely to produce positive effect. Once there was a new generation of Riders, they could help control him.

While this discourse occurred in my mind, I knew underneath it all that there was no question of my refusing him. Would I even leave the castle alive if I rebuked his offer?

"What better way indeed," I finally said.

He extended his hand to me and I shook it.

"To Alagaësia. To us. To the future." I raised my glass to him.

He smiled; there was no happiness in the motion, only victory.

-x-

"You _WHAT_?" Tornac shouted.

"I accepted his offer," I said quietly.

"Murtagh – what have you done?" he said weakly, sinking into a plush seat. Galbatorix had insisted we stay until further notice.

"See sense, Tornac. I had no other choice – do you think he would let us saunter out of his palace, content to resume our lives now that he has let me in on his plans? I'm only lucky he did not use you to force me into agreement."

"But to accept the allegiance of Galbatorix? How could you agree to become of the servant of an evil, insane lunatic?"

"Is it evil that he wants to unite Alagaësia under a single banner? That he wants to eliminate the need for war? That he wants to restore the Riders? And create a society that surpasses our history in every possible degree? Perhaps I have got the measure of Galbatorix better than you have, Tornac!"

He studied me miserably. "Oh, Murtagh. He has you now."

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><p><strong><em>Are you going to review? Yes? DON'T YOU CLICK AWAY FROM ME!<em>  
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	3. Chapter 2, Ambush

_**The Red Rider _****—****_ the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN.**_

_So haha, I realized in doing my research that I had been misspelling Galbatorix wrong since forever – I thought it was _Gilbatorix_ for some reason, so I went back and corrected it everywhere._

_Also, let's just make it clear that Galbatorix is NOT gay. I had to throw in that line about his "indulgences" to underscore that fact. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but ever since JK Rowling told us Dumbledore was gay, every other lone male character always is always portrayed just a little…flamy, and it really pisses me off. Speaking of Dumbledore…did anyone catch the HP reference?_

_Also, dw readers: I WILL FINISH THIS STORY IF IT IS THE LAST THING I DO –HA! I will not abandon this story, it's my magnum opus._

_xoxo —ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

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><p><em>Chapter 2, Ambush<em>

We continued to trespass on Galbatorix's generosity for a few more days, enthralled as I was by my new position as his ally. Finally, however, I had to accept that there was nothing I could do for him at the moment – that and Tornac insisted we return to run our own establishment.

There, I walked around with an air of superiority. I was now the ally, perhaps even the friend, of the unconquerable Galbatorix.

When I told Tornac about the specifics of our dinner, he was relieved almost to tears. "I feared the worst," he admitted to me. "That he had bound you with magic, that you were lost to his cause forever. There is still hope for us, Murtagh." He tried to discuss absconding with me, but it seemed so absurd.

Why leave Urû'baen for another imperfect settlement when I could reform this one with Galbatorix? With our power and wisdom, a new Alagaësia would rise, like a phoenix from the ashes of the old land, greater and more powerful than ever before. An upheaval would not be peaceful, but that was an unfortunate, unavoidable byproduct. Galbatorix of all people understood sacrifice.

Meanwhile, I had to prepare for the revolution.

Where I had before amused myself with the battle strategies of famous wars, suddenly the political moves of ancient leaders now gripped me. Together, Tornac and I poured over old tomes and volumes of wars, geographic disruptions, and the intrusion of elves and other creatures on our realms. As his vassal, surely I would have just as much to do with the new Order as he did.

The burning desire of conquest was bright in me – the hot blood of Morzan would never let that flame go out, but it was tempered, if only slightly, by the gentler blood of my mother and the urgings of Tornac. I remembered, even if it was increasingly rarely that I would have to be the one to curb Galbatorix's rages and caprices.

It did not escape my pride and vanity for who would have allowed it that while I was of the Riders, I was also of the Foresworn. Even if it had, no one would have let me forget it – least of all Tornac. The burden of such a position did not frighten me. I had always known my life would not be easy. But I soothed my worries: no matter how the revolution ended (with the King at its forefront, it could _only_ end one way) I would not let myself become Galbatorix, or Morzan.

For all that I would face, and that which I would endure but could not even imagine now, I had to remain myself. To suffer with the dignity of my rank.

I never considered death.

-x-

Finally, message arrived by maiden who delivered it breathless from the passage that Galbatorix wished to see me immediately.

I sat down weakly, taken by surprise.

Tornac was pale with fear. "I did not think he might actually use you," he said grimly. "You are still a child, Murtagh. He knows this. But he has won your confidence. Galbatorix does not need magic to enslave you. He is more dangerous than I thought."

It should have occurred to me that what Tornac said was unnervingly true. It was indeed odd that Galbatorix had not, for a moment, tried to sway me with magic, or extract any sort of promise by coercion. In fact, he had left me with my free will in tact. He rarely resorted to such mercy; why should he bother if he could control me with the merest effort?

Why _had_ he left me to my own devices? To see if I was truly on his side perhaps?

I assuaged his anxiety. "He believes me to his servant, utterly devoted to him, Tornac. It is not suspicious; it is his sentiment that has blindsided him. This oversight has given us an advantage. Do not worry for me. I have my head."

_As if Galbatorix had an emotion apart from avarice and entitlement._

"Perhaps he is testing you, Murtagh. This is another trial."

"He trusts me, Tornac. His gifts? Those were tests. The woman? She was a test. The dinner was a test – I passed successfully. He believes me to be entirely on his side." I assured Tornac. "I can use my influence to change him, Tornac. See the unique power his dependence gives us." I smiled in triumph.

Tornac still looked anxious, but I had soothed the worst of his concerns with my cool rationales.

I set off alone for the main center of the castle.

The scene could not have been more different from my last night there. Somehow the scene was uneasy; tense, as if the air itself was holding its breath. As if Shruikan was waiting in the wings to swoop out and destroy all of us.

The main areas were no longer deserted. Soldiers littered the outside walls and walkways. Within, servants, maids, and the household staff scurried about, harried. The disturbance should have given the castle a more homely atmosphere; instead it made it purely terrifying.

These were not the casual movements of servants catering to a King. These were the panicked movements of a disturbed anthill, fleeing from intrusion. It was the flight of a herd of antelope from a lion. It was a flock of birds, set into flight by a predator's stray movements.

Chaos.

In one wild moment of confused alarm, I wondered if Shruikan had gotten loose. I hailed a man and instructed him on my arrival. When I told him I was here to meet with the King, a deadened pall came upon his face, as if telling him to bring me to the King was equivalent to a death sentence. But wordlessly, unhaltingly, he led me again down a series of still unfamiliar hallways.

Duress and distress were written on every face.

Somehow, the same journey seemed to take an eternity, with my heart pounding increasingly loudly that I thought it might wake the sleeping dragon.

He stopped before another gilded door. In the instant before he knocked, I saw further down the hall, clearly in a same position as this man but several, unlucky hours earlier the same maid who had brought me to dine that fateful night several weeks ago, lay motionless several yards away, corpse shoved aside like an afterthought.

The servant knocked.

My blood ran cold as I suddenly understood the panic and alarm of the servants as each tried to save themselves by bring their King some happy harbinger. I had never seen Galbatorix angry, but it did not go very far to understand that his fury was terrible to receive; that his wrath was deadly to those around him, and my share of it would be tempered only by my success. Another pang of terror incapacitated me as I reevaluated the tenuous status of my own life.

_"Enter."_

The King stood with his back to me in his study, leaning over a large piece of parchment. I could hear him breathing loudly, as if winded, like an enraged bull.

"Welcome back, Murtagh."

The words, however calm, sent shivers down my spine.

I took slow steps toward the King.

He stood, hunched over what I realized was a map.

"I have been too lenient," he said, in a quiet voice that chilled me to the bone. "The rebels think I have grown soft. That I am just as passive as my Rider forebearers. They shall see that I never for a moment take my power for granted. I am absolute. Murtagh, your time has come."

"My time?"

He turned around to face and smiled. It was a taut leer, an evil thing, more threatening than a look of rage.

"Yes, Murtagh. My ally, my right hand, my…_son_." He was almost _affectionate.._.To think that after all the time I had wasted in trying to endear Morzan, my true father, that the sentiment was readily available in Galbatorix of all people―I stopped a laugh.

"Take a legion of my troops and go forth to Cantos."

"What has happened in Cantos?" I asked.

Galbatorix's hands shook slightly, trembling with repressed fury. "The rebels have grown complacent. I let them exist there untroubled under the understanding that they did not interfere with me. But the Varden has tried and tested my patience. I let them exist because they amuse me; their pathetic bids for freedom, like a lion toying with a mouse, but let their discontent fester for too long and the mouse will grow rabid."

His calmness terrified me.

"I could smite them out in one night. Shruikan could do it instantly if he so wished. I was too forgiving, too merciful and they indulged themselves. They believe they are actually a threat to me?" He laughed. "I look away for a moment and they destroyed three brigades of my troops, and they believe they will escape unscathed?"

"What would you have me do? Imprison them? Interrogate them? Burn the rebels at stake?" Adrenaline was pumping through me; I could taste the sweet nectar of vengeance on my tongue. _How long has it been since a good battle?_

I was not bloodthirsty, but fighting for a cause, any excuse to hold my own allowed me to prove my own masculinity, even if it was only to myself. And distinguish myself from my dishonorable father and give myself distinction as Murtagh, not the scion of Morzan. After all, the cause was just as, if not more so, important as the battle's outcome.

"Obliterate them all."

"What?" The word slipped out before I realized I was implying discontent.

I had previously heard of Cantos: soldiers were always being shipped there to quell some minor disturbance caused by the Varden's opposition, not all of the denizens could be sympathetic to the resistance. But in his eyes, all of them were guilty regardless of innocence. He wanted me to annihilate the city, irrespective of the guilt of its inhabitants. Galbatorix wanted to make an example of the city to put off any future insurgence, to frighten his kingdom into submission.

"Was I not unequivocal?" He asked me, his soft tenor fraught with peril.

His manner was so different from what I had encountered before. I realized he didn't possess the mercy or foresight to gain the people's loyalty. He ruled only through brute force guided by his own passions. Any charge he lead, any new domain he conquered and revolutionized would only be more of the same suffering and unhappy ruin.

I had been blinded by the sinful mellifluence of his words, the tempting illusion he had created to enchant me. I had been a begging puppet, a delighted slave. Tornac had warned of his incorrigible evil, the pure that raged inside of him. It was too late to save Galbatorix from himself, but we still had time. It was at that moment I was determined to escape him and Urû'baen forever.

The King turned back to the map and pointed at the region that was the city of Cantos on the map. Suddenly tongues of flames leapt up from its epicenter of the insurgent city. They were confined to the paper representation. When they vanished, all that was left behind was a hole in paper and a heap of ashes.

-x-

I rode hard to find Tornac in the city's tavern. He had accompanied me, as always, until the castle whence he sought relief in spirits. He was in a merry mood when I found him, but I quickly nixed it by recalling the events that had just transpired.

"Murtagh," he said cautiously. "Surely you see the madness behind his method. You cannot possibly be considering his edict!"

"Of course not, Tornac," I murmured quietly, aware of the others in the tavern. I inconspicuously led Tornac from the tavern. "I informed him that I needed a day's time to construct my designs on the city. We would be leaving on the morrow at dusk."

"Murtagh!"

I interrupted him. "There is not much time. He will be watching me closely tomorrow for signs of weakness and indecision. Already perhaps, he suspects I do not agree. We must make haste and leave at this instant."

He sighed in relief.

"I will saddle my horse. We will meet at the city gates in one hour's time. Put your affair's in order, Murtagh. For if we run from the King, we can never return. Have you given thought to where we will seek refuge."

"The Varden and Surda."

The answer came so readily it surprised the both of us.

I understood of myself what I been blind to before: I had never really believed the dream Galbatorix had illustrated for me. Beautiful and perfect though it had seemed, it had never been real.

"The resistance? But you have never indicated any alliance with them – and as the son of a Forsworn…" he trailed off delicately.

"It will not be easy to be sure, but when have I ever been unworthy of trust, Tornac? You know better than anyone that my word is inviolable as my mind."

He smiled, won, and met my hand in a tense shake. "The time has long passed when I could protect you from Morzan let alone Galbatorix, Murtagh," he said sadly. "You are no longer a son, but a comrade."

Immediately, I felt the weight of my youth. That he placed so much trust in me terrified me. Who was I but a mere child, new to adulthood and already weight was given to my opinions? Reluctantly, I released his hand, wishing fervently to return to days of my youth when I would follow Tornac around like a duckling, shielded from misfortune by his kind hand.

"Take up your arms, Tornac."

We both lingered for a moment, sharing an expression that said volumes more than words could ever have articulated. It spoken of contingency; the future; our peculiar bond of father and son, mentor and student, and fraternal friends; hope and desperation; and incontestable closeness.

"_Atra esterní ono thelduin_." He said before briefly embracing me.

It was an old elven saying that meant "May peace be with you," often before periods of permanent or interminable absence…

-x-

Within an hour's time, I was leading my horse silently through the back alleys of Urû'baen. Every shadow was a soldier of the Imperial brigade, every gust of wind seemed like Shruikan's breath. When the city gates came into view, I touched my hip for my sword instinctively and settled in wait.

A few minutes later as the last rays of the sun set behind the royal stead, throwing it in a fiery brilliance, Tornac came cantering out of a side alley two streets. He caught my eye immediately. I clambered on to my steed and with a nod, we came lurching out of the darkness.

Even before the watchman could correctly the approaching sounds as approaching horses we were upon. Tornac slide a short blade along his throat and the man fell limply to the ground, still convulsing as he gasped for air.

I rode to the gates and nudged my horse forward as Tornac slowly unraveled the length of chain used to meld them shut.

They gave slowly and infuriatingly, inch by inch.

Suddenly, I heard a telltale swish by shoulder, the slight noise made from a narrowly missed arrow aimed at my chest.

I gave a cry that immediately made Tornac start and look around. We barely had time to come together and stand with our backs facing to view our foes properly.

A small troop of soldiers were galloping towards us on horseback while their slower infantrymen slowly crept toward us on all sides.

"The pulley!" I hissed to Tornac. I stayed his arm as he made a quick movement. I took a breath as I watched them near. "…_NOW!_"

He raced back to the pulley as I guarded him closely. The foot soldiers all rushed me on foot as I unsheathed my longsword and whipped it through the air so that it narrowly missed their jugulars. My horse reared in fright as the soldier crowded us, hitting the foreman with its hooves.

He fell and did not rise.

"How did he know?" I cried to Tornac as I lashed out with my sword and exchanged blows with several soldiers. Galbatorix surely had ordered these soldiers – but how had he anticipated my flight?

Tornac had he been fighting with me could easily have torn them to pieces. Between us this would have been child's play. But between the cavalry whose advances kept forcing my horse to shy back and the foot soldiers who had already found shallow sheaths for their hand-and-half blades in my skin, we were losing ground.

And yet, they did not seek to kill us. Maim us, perhaps, wound us into submission surely. However if the advantage shifted to us I didn't doubt Galbatorix had ordered them to slay us without thought.

Little was more dangerous than a man with nothing to lose and Galbatorix was the most dangerous man, if he was still any part human, of all.

"Ha!" Tornac cried as he released the last of the chain. The gate fell with a _crash_ that caused lights to flicker on in the houses nearest. My horse shied in surprise, rearing up on its hind legs. As I fell from my horse, I found myself next to the watchman Tornac had slain earlier. The slit at his throat like a bright red sneer seemed to mock me.

Out of the mass of soldier, a spear flying. I parried it with my sword, but the force of the throw unseated me. I fell back into a pile of bodies and seized a fallen man's shield. The footsoldiers chased the horse into the courtyard so I was left fighting on foot. I could see Tornac fighting to reach me in the sea of men, but our progress was slow.

I could see him fighting two horsemen, parrying each of thrusts expertly almost effortlessly. I swiped at the men in front of me, catching one in the shoulder and forcing him back. But another simply fell into his place.

I was tiring and their numbers were only increasing.

"Murtagh!"

Tornac was riding toward me, hard. His horse forced the men aside and he continue to parry the blows sent at him. As he drew level with me, I renewed my vigor and fought lashed out so viciously with my sword that several men lent back. Before they could renew neatly slipped between two waves of soldiers, running and jumping onto the rear of the horse.

Tornac wheeled around and the horse pushed the gates, rearing up on two legs. The gates opened with a metallic crash and the two of us jolted as the horses regained their footing.

Out of the darkness, I could hear more men approaching, drawn by the battle and as we left Urû'baen I heard the familiar _whoosh_ narrowly missed me.

Relief flooded through me.

I spurred the horse onward.

Behind me, Tornac slumped to the side and before I could drop my shield, he fell from the horse to the ground. I grabbed the reins and an instantly before I could nip my horse to a standstill with my burs, I remembered the look we had exchanged.

We were both soldiers and strategists at heart so we knew the odds. Before we had parted ways, he had given me a look, full of meaning but ineffable nevertheless. If I had been wounded in battle, I knew he would stay to fight until the very end and he expected no less from me.

_But if the other died…?_

Emotions and sentiment had no place in a battle.

I wheeled my steed around. I could see where Tornac lay several feet away. His eyes were wide and staring, an arrow protruding from his neck. His lips were pursed, as if he'd paused in speaking, a silt opening his throat—a terrible, bright red smile.

I hesitated for a moment and then, cursing my fate, I rode the few feet to the castle's exit and entered the dark wilderness beyond the citadel.

I never looked back.

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><p><strong><em>Look into my eyes. You are feeling very sleepy. You want to click on that button below. You want to review...<em>  
><strong>


	4. Chapter 3, Flight

_**The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena.; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN.**_

_Finally, the adventure can start. And yes, there are a few discrepancies between the series and my re-write, but honestly would this even be worth reading if I didn't take some creative license? (Is it worth reading anyway?)_

_Credit where credit is due: I allude to Rowlings' work quit extensively in this chapter. Anything HP-recognizable is definitely hers. Let me know if you picked up on it :)_

_I really love this chapter. I think it shows how Murtagh's thinking and reasoning growing and how he's become more rational and mature. Also RestrainedFreedom, I hope this appeases your doubts about Murtagh and his feelings toward the Varden?_

_xoxo —ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

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><p><em>Chapter 3, Flight<em>

I rode hard.

On and on; for how long, I had no measure, but it felt like hours, days even.

My own horse had followed me out of the city and it rode alongside me atop the fine white specimen that had belonged to Tornac. It was foolish to travel with horses it would make for awkward riding, but I couldn't bring myself to let the horse go.

Finally, when Urû'baen was merely a speck of light in the distance, I slowed down to a canter. I hopped off the horse and tied both to the trunk of a sturdy tree nearby. I climbed up into its branches, choosing a particularly thick one and attempted to fall asleep.

Predictably, I couldn't.

So I lay awake, staring into the darkness, seeing nothing but the look on Tornac's dead face. He had been like a father to me – a father, a brother, a mentor, a friend. He had filled every role. And now…?

Hot anger coursed through me.

How could I been so naïve as to trust Galbatorix? I had been a child to think that I had fooled the omnipotent man – if he was at all human any more – of all time. The guards were no coincidence. He had anticipated my renege and planted his men there.

I shuddered to think of our fate if we had been captured. _At least Tornac was dead_ — I clapped my hand over my mouth as if I had uttered those damning words aloud. _At least Tornac was dead? _How could I have even considered that?

I felt an unfamiliar feeling stinging in my eyes and a thick lump rose in my throat, making it impossible for me to swallow. Frantically, I tried to relax and stem the well of emotion that was threatening to overtake me.

I had never so much as shed a tear in my entire life. Not when my mother left, not when my parents had died, not even when Tornac had sent the woman away although I had been more than a little peeved then.

_What was I doing? Submitting to the caprices of the weaker sex? Crying? _— Rustling interrupted my thoughts. It was not the gentle rustling of the trees as their leaves swung gently in the nighttime. It was the slow creep of uneven feet, dragging themselves across the ground—and there! What was that? That faint flapping as if some giant bird were taking flight…or landing.

I rolled off the branch and fell to the ground as quietly as I could, landing on the balls of my feet like a cat. Taking care to stay as still as I could, I clambered onto Tornac's horse which was the closer of the two animals. I untied him and leaned over to untie my own horse.

A scream interrupted the calm night.

Terror and comprehension washed through me. How often had I seen the great brutes flapping around the castle of Galbatorix, held aloft by their predecessors?

My horse echoed the scream as it started in terror. It jerked away from the bolted to the far side of the tree beyond my reach. Without a moment to waste, I directed my steed toward him but it shied away, terrified into stupidity by the sound. He blundered around in the darkness for a moment as the flap of giant wings grew louder.

The flapping noise was overtaken by a vehement hissing. It was difficult to understand what they were saying because each word was spoken in a hiss and accompanied by a click of their pincers.

"We have _f-f-found_ him. _S-s-seize_ him."

There wasn't a moment to lose.

Without hesitation, I directed Tornac's horse into the darkness. He sped into a gallop without my urging, his animal senses triggered into flight. My old horse neighed desperately as it tried to pull itself free. I could hear it whinnying desperately as the distance between us increased by the second.

And then the night was wrent apart in a cacophony of sound as the Ra'zac fell on my abandoned beast, tearing it to pieces and devouring it alive. The horse screamed again, the sound a pure note of despair, fear, and hopelessness.

And then, there was silence once more.

_At least Tornac was dead._

-x-

I rode for days on end.

Stopping for little more than a few hours when the horse was almost dead with exhaustion. I used to the longbow I had with me to snare animals in the wild brush. But even as an unshakable weariness possessed us from long days of riding, I could not stop. The appearance of the Ra'zac had impressed upon me the graveness of my circumstances.

Gone was the hour of contentment when I thought I could seek shelter and mercy with the Varden. Galbaltorix had anticipated and planned for my every move. It was a combination of dumb luck and the shelter of night that had afforded my life thus far.

The Varden was a jest, a tale told by the cowardly to imagine some semblance of peace in the future. I realized now, after the gravest of my follies that there was truly no hope for any of us. Galbatorix' reign was interminable. And without a dragon, the Varden was lucky he didn't smite them out in one blow. I had no more impulse now to seek out the Varden that to return to Galbatorix for each was equally futile.

The feeling of being in the crosshairs of some invincible force was familiar to me by all my years with Morzan. It was not the constant feelings of being hunting that aggravated, but rather the severe loneliness and isolation.

In my childhood, the castle had always been alive with movement and a babble of voices, if not pleasantly at least by the sounds of Morzan's complaints and yells, which were always just a door away. Even with Tornac, I was never starved for attention or companionship. And for the brief moments when I had considered a fraternity with Galbatorix, I was wishing for some glorious union of men on a fantastic mission.

I took to speaking aloud to my horse as the miles passed in a glaze of sweltering heat and sunshine. By night, I spoke to him until I could no longer keep my eyes open. The silence was driving me to the brink of sanity and I knew if I let it overtake, the guilt over my friend's murder would lose me my mind.

And I called him Tornac.

-x-

I passed several metropolises: Bullridge, Gil'ead, Daret, and Flam. And finally after camping outside of Teirm for many days, I was satisfied that the Ra'zac had lost our trail.

The city was encircled by a white wall. A towering citadel rose above the walls puncturing the soft blue sky. There were two main gates: one on the western side of the city, facing the sea, the other on the southern side, opening to the road.

"Shall we enter the city?" I asked aloud.

Tornac nickered, pleased, as I rubbed the skin on the sides of his equine head.

"Perhaps we should at least try to find out whatever gossip is circulating the Empire to determine the next course of action."

That Morzan's son was alive was not a well-known fact, though my escape would be public news soon. However, because my father and Tornac had kept me sequestered in the castle, I would not be recognized. Even if Galbatorix had not let the news out, the servants of my own establishment would realized the truth by now and disbanded if they knew what was good for them.

In any case, Teirm was far enough that Galbatorix would not have tracked me here. In fact, I was, for once, doing the opposite of what he would predict: riding away from the Varden and Surda.

The greatest men were only what their fates had made them and any bounty for my head would only make me harder to find. My illustrious dreams had been shattered and in their wake grew an awareness and clarity of mind that I had never previously had.

I slipped inside the city without any trouble.

The first place I sought respite was within a tavern. I took care not to drink too much, for if I needed to make a quick escape I needed my wits about, but I could hardly pass up on the ale I had grown up with. Finally, with civilized food in my stomach, I considered my circumstances.

I requested some parchment from the tavernkeeper and moved to the back and attempted to better assess my situation. From memory I sketched a rough map of Alagaësia—between Morzan, Tornac, and Galbatorix I had an education fit for a prince, or the closet to one Alagaësia would ever have and from it knew nearly everything about its history, from the first Riders to the last war, to the elves, and the dwarves.

Ideally to live a life untroubled by Galbatorix or the Varden's pitiful attempts to overtake him, the desert would be perfect, but there was no hope to survive in it. As for what lay beyond…no one had ever lived long enough in the blinding sunshine and bone-dry climate to live to tell the tale.

After ruling out the south, my only remaining trajectory would be to the north. Galbatorix would never think to look me for in the Spine. There it would be dangerous and potentially a life of interminable solitude, but I knew there were sparse villages that made their homes at its edge. There, I might be safe from Galbatorix, for a few years perhaps.

Would the road _ever_ end for me?

As for the Ra'zac, if they had given up on me, they were now probably heading for Cantos to exact Galbatorix's revenge. As long I did not enter Urû'baen, I would be safe from them. As for Dras-Leona, it would be a hot day in the desert before I stepped foot near Helgrind.

As I made up my mind—I would ride for the Spine tomorrow morning, after collecting provisions from the city's bazaar—I heard a snatch of conversation from a pair of men in deep conversation several feet from me.

"…the Ra'zac destroyed a plantation up in Carvahall and now the King is sending soldiers up by the Spine. First Cantos, now this? What does he think he's playing at?"

Slowly, I slipped from my seat and went up to the bar under the pretense of refilling my tankard and sat down again in a seat closer to the pair. I carefully kept my eyes low on my tankard, but listened intently.

"The Ra'zac paid a visit to the Spine? You must be mistaken. I heard from my importer in Urû'baen that they ravaged upon someone's herd of horses just a few weeks ago." The second man said fretfully. "Do you think Galbatorix has let them run wild?"

"Not by the gods," the first man swore. "That's not the way to go, for sure. I heard from a bard just days ago. He fled Carvahall the morning after the Ra'zac landed and he told me they set upon a man's farm and killed him with their Seithr-coated arms."

I knew of the Seithr plants from my botanical studies with Tornac who had served as something of a teach-all.

Seithr was a plant that grew a small island in the frigid. In its natural state, its oil was a popular preservative for pearls and other gems. Jewelers and merchants that could afford it were few and far in between, but its principal use was not well known. After spells were cast on the oil, it imbibed a flesh-devouring characteristic that would leave any animal or human a mere puddle of fluid.

It was the Ra'zac's weapon of choice.

But they, the Ra'zac, were apparently in Carvahall, a city I had only ever heard of in passing, they had all but forgotten me for the time being. Inwardly, I rejoiced.

"He was barely recognizable, I heard," the first man continued. "The Ra'zac are angry, see. They were chasing the son of Morzan. He has escaped from Urû'baen."

"The son of Morzan?" Said the second man, aghast. "I did not know any of the Forsworn had spawn," he cackled. "Where do you think Morzan's son is headed? Perhaps the Varden?"

"Only the gods know," the first man said grimly. "But I should hope not to the Varden. They would murder him on sight. They are set against all the Forsworn by oath."

I dropped my tankard with a loud clunk and hurriedly went still so as not to disturb their conversation.

"But the son of Morzan, he must know all sorts of dark magics and sorceries." The first man went on. "I wouldn't trust him farther than I could throw him, so why would the Varden?"

"But then what do you think he's broken out to do? Good gracious, he isn't trying to restart the Forsworn, is he? I must say, Galbatorix alone and friendless is one thing, even with his dragon, but put the son of his most devoted lieutenant on the ground and I shudder to think how quickly he'll raise an order of Dragon Riders," the second man said nervously.

"That may be his eventual plan," the first man said gravely. "But if he was bent on reviving the order of the Riders' enemies, I don't see why he would run from Galbatorix. Perhaps that's why Galbatorix sent the Ra'zac after him; he doesn't want another Dragon Rider competing with him." He sighed heavily. "Nothing is known of Morzan's son, but like father like son, eh? I wonder if the Ra'zac are even truly after him, maybe they are his warriors."

"After _him_? Then why are they in Carvahall?" The second man asked. "Cantos, I can understand. But Carvahall surely isn't starting an uprising as well…"

"Well, the bard told me there are certain rumors…" The first lowered his voice so that I had to drop my tankard to the ground to find a pretense to crouch low next to my seat and hear the words that followed. "Apparently, the nephew of the dead farmer is on the run, chasing the Ra'zac for revenge."

"Is he not of sound mind?" The second man said incredulously.

"Well, he seems to have the edge on the Ra'zac. There is news of a new Dragon Rider…" he let that sink in. "Of course, there hasn't been a new Rider since the Order fell, but now it may be time. It is said that he escaped the Ra'zac unscathed, how could you explain that if he did not have a dragon? Haven't you heard? None of the slaves that serve Helgrind are ever seen again. So either this boy has a Dragon or he's the luckiest blasted man alive." The first man concluded ominously.

"Let's change the subject, Fjord," the second man said shakily. "There's a good man. All this talk about the Ra'zac is giving me the collywobbles."

"Aye. I've had enough as well. But, you know, Elrias, if you're dining with us, we'd better head back up to bazaar. I need to check that my shipment came in yet."

There was a small chink of glass on wood. The two men left their seats and the door to the tavern opened in a gust of wind and they disappeared into the dusk.

-x-

I did not know how I managed to ride calmly out of the city and find where I had hidden my arms in the branches of a high tree beyond the clear view of the city exit. All I knew was that the return trip seemed to take no time at all, and that I hardly knew what I was doing. The conversation I had just heard was pounding inside my skull.

Hatred such as I had never known before was coursing through me like poison.

Why had Tornac never told me? The Varden loathed me uncontestably. Because I was my father's son and thus irrevocably marred. I had always prided myself that I was nothing like my father.

Even Galbatorix's compliments, insincere though they had been, had distinguished us correctly. At least Galbatorix was intelligent enough to know that not every son was a reflection of his father, something the Varden, with their _noble_ mission had overlooked. At least Galbatorix could respect each of his enemies for their individual skills and flaws. The Varden on the other hand had lumped us all in the same category.

Tornac whinnied and cantered over to where I was attempting to count the remainder of the coins in my saddlebags. Twice I had counted and both times, my anger had distracted me.

And what of the Ra'zac? They _had_ given up on and apparently satisfied with the destruction they wreaked in Carvahall were most likely returning to Helgrind, as Dras-Leona was closer than the capital, and seemingly with this Rider on their tail.

What was his madness that he thought he could taken on the Ra'zac singlehandedly? Unless the man in the tavern had been right; if there _was_ a new Dragon Rider, that surely meant another war was on the horizon for Galbatorix could hardly be expected to sit still as this newcomer usurped his title. And if this boy was at its forefront, it was wisest perhaps to seek him out and offer my services to him. It was too early for him to ally himself with the Varden or Galbatorix and if I could bind him to me, immunity would be perhaps finally be mine.

If he was chasing the Ra'zac all the way from Carvahall, by the rough timeline the men in the tavern had described he would be in Gil'ead by now. From Teirm, I calculated quickly in my head, even if I were nearer to Dras-Leona, I would have to cross the mountains, or at least wind around by the Toark river pass whereas the Dragon Rider would have even ground to ride all the way to Dras-Leona.

"What say you Tornac?" I asked, patting his glossy black fur affectionately. He neighed softly. "I always did like races."

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><p><em><strong>If you'd like me to update more frequently, please, send me money so I can buy a computer. Or better yet, just review :)<strong>_


	5. Chapter 4, Helgrind

_**The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN.**_

_Wow, a double feature! I must really love you guys. Show me some love and review. Also I'm going to apologize ahead of time for any fight scenes I write because that is one thing I'm just awful at._

_But really, if you've read one fight scene in the _Inheritance_ series you've pretty much read them all: Eragon says spells, people die. There's parrying and thrusting and swinging of swords or hammers. And then Eragon says Brisingr..._

_It's like Pokemon where Ash Ketchum always uses Pikachu to end the battle with Team Rocket. I feel really bad for all the other pokemon he catches and then NEVER uses. I guess they just sit in their pokeballs and bum hard – but I digress._

_xoxo —ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

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><p><em>Chapter 4, Helgrind<em>

Once again, I was riding fast. At least we had a destination now, as tenuous as it was. The road was clogged with merchants taking their receptacles from the port in Teirm and transporting them to the rest of the land. Many, like me, were heading toward Dras-Leona, as well as Urû'baen and Belatona.

I made smalltalk with the traders and flirted with the women, learning much that I had missed yet during my journey not the least of which was that Galbatorix was planning to visit Dras-Leona in four weeks' time.

It had to be a coincidence. Galbatorix _could not_ know my whereabouts.

I made excellent time to Dras-Leona, arriving three weeks before the King's planned visit.

When I finally caught my first glimpse, it was merely smoke in the distance. But as I rode closer, the smoke dissipated. It was nothing like any city I had ever seen. Where Teirm was utilitarian and well-distributed to facilitate its nature as a port city; where Urû'baen had been glorious and lurid as a royal stronghold should be; Dras-Leona was a sprawling mess of an establishment.

Tangled streets next to ramshackle buildings distinguished it as a city in disrepair. The heart of the city was surrounded by a dirty, pale yellow wall of daubed mud. Several miles east, a mountain of bare rock speared the sky with jagged spires and columns that rose out of the earth's maws.

_Helgrind_.

Most of Alagaësia's inhabitants were mistaken about the true nature of Helgrind and its priests. They were known to drink blood and make flesh offerings in attempts to surpass the burdens of the physical world. But Tornac had revealed to me that their true religion was a profoundly psychotic worship of the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka. The priests were mere lumps of flesh, with stumps and protruding bones and excavated sinew unearthed in fanatic acts of self-mutilation and bloodletting to sustain the Ra'zac's appetite who they considered gods.

If Galbatorix was visiting Dras-Leona, surely all of Helgrind's inhabitants would be preparing for the event. The Ra'zac must already be gathered. Considering the King had not left Urû'baen in nearly ten years, most of the major cities would be aware of his impending transit. Surely, the new Dragon Rider must know by now. And if he knew, he, like myself, must also be trying to avoid crossing paths with Galbatorix, which meant he would be here any day now to fight the Ra'zac without the King's interference.

At Dras-Leona's gates, I led my horse on foot through the crush of people. Soldiers were stationed on either side of the gates, casually scanning the crowd. I passed into the city without incident.

After traversing the city for several hours, I decided the best place to lurk would be around the palace. There were spies on both sides residing within. After cautiously watching on the castle, I identified one of the castle maids buying wines in the bazaar and struck up a conversation with her. She was a charmed by the pretense of bravado and charisma I presented, believing my story of wanting glory and fame as a soldier, inviting me into the castle and her bed.

I did not dare to ask questions. As a newcomer, my intentions were already suspect. If I drew attention to myself with queries, my presence might be made known to the Marcus Tábor, the city's ruler. He answered only to the king and his own conscience; neither of which I wished to be made privy to.

-x-

For several days, I heard nothing in the way of news. I kept my eyes open in the city during the day for hints and clues, perhaps even sight of this new Dragon Rider.

Once I thought I caught a glimpse of a silver flash on someone's hand_—_hopefully the luminous _gedwëy ignasia_ I had seen so many times on my father's palm, but when the man turned, I saw it was merely a boy, and a youth at that. He couldn't have been more than sixteen years and was rather on the runty side. He shot me a furtive look full of defiance, but slunk away.

An old bard was invited to the servants' quarters and entertained us.

Then, a fortnight before Galbatorix's visit, Valdis, the maiden I had hoodwinked for information, mentioned quite by accident precisely what I had been waiting for: "The Ra'zac are prowling the city today." She was saying to her sister maids. "Apparently looking for someone."

"Do they come into the city often?" I asked, trying to keep my voice cavalier.

"No," she told me, surprised at my interest in the subject. "Usually, they don't venture into the city. They stay at their hovel in Helgrind. Any provisions are brought to them every full moon by Tábor's slaves."

If this was not a casual visit, they must have a reason for disturbing the city in plain daylight. Could it be they had a caught a whiff of the new Dragon Rider?

I leapt off the divan where Valdis was sitting and gathered my things.

"Where are you going?" She called plaintively after me.

I did not bother to answer.

-x-

In the city streets, it became plain to me that there was something amiss today. The civilians on the roads had a distressed look about them, probably brought about by the sight of the Ra'zac. But even the soldiers seemed to be on edge.

Several of them were heading toward the enormous gates of Dras-Leona.

In a moment of pure clarity, I understood: the Dragon Rider had breached Dras-Leona, perhaps assassinating some of the Ra'zac, perhaps not; but either way his presence was known. The soldiers were going to seal the city and smoke him out.

I raced toward the stables adjacent to the castle and bridled Tornac. I nipped him in the sides and we charged toward the entrance of Dras-Leona. The square was already filling slowly with the foot-soldiers, several of whom were beginning to advance toward the gates, to lower them.

With a clatter of hooves, I sped toward and beneath the thundering gates. A few of the soldiers cried an alarm but no one stopped me. After all, I was not the target. Not yet.

I rode until the first bend in the road toward Dras-Leona and turned around to watch. The gates were still falling, but there seemed to some sort of skirmish at the gates. Then, with a groan of metal I could hear from I stood, the gates halted.

Trumpets blared an alarm.

Two horsemen rode hard through the space. After they were beyond reach, the gates smashed to the ground.

_The Dragon Rider!_

They rode hard for the western outskirts of the city. I did not follow them for they would mistake me for an enemy and besides that, if I found them, I could not recognize them. They were too far now to identify any distinctive facial features.

The pair disappeared into the thick brush beyond the city, towards Leona Lake. I watched for several minutes and finally, I was rewarded: a great blue dragon rose above the treetops, taking care to stay as close to the ground as it could, flying in spurts. Against the setting sun, I could see the silhouette of a man sitting atop the dragon.

At last.

-x-

Soon darkness lost them in her cloak and I left the main road to make camp. I made sure to leave Dras-Leona's gates in my sight. I wasn't worried to lose the Rider. I would not need to follow them. Their escape had hardly been unobtrusive and I knew the Ra'zac would follow them, especially at night when the creatures were strongest. Now I merely had to wait.

It was too dangerous to light a fire, so I merely drank the remainder of my water and ate the cold provisions I had kept in case of a contingency.

Then an hour after true darkness had fallen, I caught a flicker of movement above the wall of Dras-Leona. I watched carefully and then—_yes, there!_ A small patch of color that stood out from the surrounding nightscape.

The Ra'zac were hunting.

My eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, so I was able to follow their movements in the sky with minimal movement. They were staying close to the city, which had to mean that the Rider and his Dragon were sequestered nearby.

Foolish of them.

Still, I kept myself and my horse quiet. The creatures would not hesitate to finish me if given the chance and I was loathe to afford them one, so close to my reward. After a quarter of an hour, I realized the Ra'zac were losing altitude, right over a point a few hundred yards away.

Forgetting my stealth, I rode outrightly to the location. I could see through the trees that there was a small clearing up ahead and moments before I burst through it, I heard a man's cry and then the deafening roar of a dragon.

At the edge of the clearing, beyond sight, the most fantastic image met my eyes.

The blue dragon was almost luminous in the darkness, set into frenzied motion against the Ra'zac which were dropping to the clearing like so many buzzards onto a carcass.

One of the Ra'zac slashed at the thin man in the center of the clearing who dropped like a stone. The other man attempted to use a spell, but several Ra'zac landed upon him and administered another blow that incapacitated him.

None of them, however, contain the fury of motion that was the dragon. Enraged by the attack on her Rider, she flung out her wings, knocking several of the creatures off her feet. Finally, of the smaller Ra'zac held up the unconscious man and pressed a dagger to his throat.

"_S-s-s-stop_, Dragon. Or we kill him."

She froze in place.

I could not attack now. I would be no better off than they especially with the Dragon disabled. If only, they would regain consciousness, I could prey on the Ra'zac long enough to give them the upper hand and turn the battle.

With order restored, they tied up the two men and poured vials of some strange pungent drink down their throats. Next they fitting a very big muzzle onto the mouth of the dragon.

At this moment, the men started to regain consciousness.

The thin man turned about, trying to gain a grasp of his surroundings, staring blearily into the lantern light. In the light, I could recognize them. It was the shifty young boy from the market, and the second broader man was the bard that had visited the palace.

One of the Ra'zac stepped before him, sticking his ugly beaked face into the youth's face and hissed, "The drug is working, _yes-s-s-s_? I think you will not be bothering _us-s-s-s_ again."

A rattle from the dragon drew her Rider's eyes. He looked appalled at their circumstances.

_"S-s-s-she_ was most cooperative once we threatened to kill you," hissed the Ra'zac. Squatting by the lantern, he rummaged through boy's bags, examining and discarding various items until he removed a long sword that gleamed even in the darkness.

_A Rider's sword_, I realized. For I had seen my father's so many times.

"What a pretty thing for one _s-s-s-so_ insignificant. Maybe I will keep it." He leaned closer and sneered, "Or maybe, if you behave, our master will let you polish it."

He turned the sword over in his hands and screeched in alarm or maybe excitement. His companion rushed to his side. They stood over the sword, hissing and clicking.

"You will serve our master very well, _yes-s-s-s_." The second Ra'zac said, facing the boy again.

He opened his mouth to speak; it seemed to take much effort. The Ra'zac had drugged them, I realized, with the contents of the pungent vials. Perhaps that was why the Rider couldn't use magic to escape.

"If I do, I will kill you," He said in slow, halting syllables.

The Ra'zac chuckled coldly. "Oh no, we are too valuable. But you, you are _dis-s-s-s-posable_. "

A deep snarl came from the incensed dragon; smoke roiled from her nostrils. The second man suddenly rolled on to his side and groaned loudly, drawing the Ra'zac's attention. One of the Ra'zac grabbed his shirt and thrust him effortlessly into the air.

"_It's-s-s-s_ wearing off."

"Give him more."

"_Let's-s-s-s_ just kill him," said a shorter Ra'zac. "He has caused us much grief."

The taller one ran his finger down the gleaming sword. "A good plan. But remember, the king's instructions were to keep them alive. "

"We can _s-s-s-say_ he was killed when we captured them."

"And what of _this-s-s-s_ one?" the first Ra'zac asked, pointing his sword at he Rider. "If he talks-s-s-s?"

The others laugh derisively. The shorter Ra'zac drew a dagger. "He would not dare."

"Agreed."

They dragged the thickset man to the center of the clearing and shoved him to his knees. He sagged to one side. The Rider watched with growing apprehension and struggled still more wildly in his bonds.

"None of that now," said the taller Ra'zac, poking him almost playfully with a sword.

I pulled my bow from my saddlebags—my longsword would be no good at such close quarters—but my movements, however quiet, drew the attention of one of the Ra'zac who tilted him nose into the air and sniffed. The other Ra'zac growled hungrily, ignoring him. Driven by the promise of imminent meat, it yanked the man's head back, and swept the dagger toward his exposed throat.

As was second nature to me, I fit an arrow to the string and let it fly. It pierced the veil of darkness and entered the clearing with a low buzz, finding its mark on the Ra'zac's shoulder.

It howled.

I fitted another one and released it, narrowly missing the second Ra'zac standing next to the Rider. It dropped to the ground to avoid the arrow's trajectory. He scuttled to his wounded companion's side, and they glared into the darkness, hissing angrily.

I directed Tornac around the perimeter of the circle, stringing and and releasing more arrows toward the three Ra'zac.

The thickset man staggered upright toward his partner.

"Get down!" The Rider hissed.

The Ra'zac rolled behind some boulders and I urged Tornac around the perimenter and shot my arrows to their unprotected backs. Caught by surprise, the Ra'zac reacted slowly. Their cloaks were pierced in several places, and a shattered arrow buried itself in one's arm.

With a wild cry, the smaller Ra'zac fled toward the road, kicking the still kneeling Rider viciously in the side as he passed. His companion hesitated, then grabbed the dagger from the ground and raced after him. As he left the clearing, he hurled the knife at the Rider.

The thickset man lurched up and threw himself in front of the Rider, his mouth open in a soundless snarl. The dagger struck him in the torso with a soft thump, and he landed heavily on his shoulder.

His head lolled limply.

"_No!_" screamed the Rider.

I leapt off Tornac and sprinted toward, shooting a few more arrows at the retreating backs of the Ra'zac. As I reached the pair of them, the youth sprawled forward and collapsed.

The dragon roared.

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><p><strong>If you'd like me to update more frequently, please, send me money so I can buy a computer. Or better yet, just review :)<strong>


	6. Chapter 5, Eragon

_**The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN.**_

_Wow, an extra long chapter! I decided you guys deserve it because I haven't updated in a while (sorry, college plus boyfriend = no time for anything) and you all have been awesome in reviewing. __Now, we meet Eragon and #**yay** things really start to pick up._

_I would consider this chapter the beginning to the second major section of this fanfic. I think of Murtagh's life in four stages: before Eragon, with Eragon, with Galbatorix, and post-war._

_**anyluckyreader:** "Hey! Isn't that just like the Inheritance Cycle?"_  
><em><strong>i<strong>**:** "Why yes, yes it is. Fortunately for you all, I won't wait a bajillion years to finish my story." :P_

_Also a shout-out to _Restrainedfreedom_: yes, you're quite right. a knife in the throat for Brom was not plausible, my bad._

_xoxo —ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

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><p><em>Chapter 5, Eragon<em>

I threw myself down next to the young Rider, but before I could check him properly, his Dragon growled menacingly at me.

Her intention was evident. She might have been muzzled but her powerful limbs were still very much in commission, and clearly she wouldn't hesitate to rip me from limb to limb if she thought I presented a threat to the old man or the boy, which apparently I did.

I stood up slowly, holding my hands up and open to show her that there was nothing, no dagger or weapon, concealed. I walked to the fallen man and slowly turned him over.

She snorted and plume of smoke came out her nostrils and the beady vertical pupil of her eye followed me incessantly.

"Shall I remove your muzzle?" I asked sardonically.

She responded with a dignified purr, which I took to mean that I could deign to remove the contraption. I walked slowly toward her and carefully removed the chains that held her jaws together.

She roared as the muzzle came, enjoying her old freedom and shuffled up to her Rider and the old man, unfurling her wings and holding them around the unconscious pair.

I turned my back to her and rolled my eyes.

I didn't know how potent the Ra'zac's drug was so I decided to count on staying the night in this forest, although it would have been wisest to move immediately.

After starting a cheery fire, I left to wash and reclothe myself. By the time I returned, the Dragon had calmed down and was gently breathing on the two men, to keep them warm in the cold forest. I picketed Tornac to a tree in the clearing.

Then, carefully, in her view, setting aside my sword and horn, I seated myself cross-legged in front of the dragon and her charges, careful to maintain several feet between us and waited.

Slowly, the Rider came to.

The boy tossed over and laboriously lifted his head. After watching me suspiciously for a minute he asked hoarsely, "Who are you?"

My hands tightened on the bow.

"Murtagh." I said rigidly.

Suddenly, I was anxious. After all, I had helped these people, at great risk to myself. They were certainly indebted to me, but what if my heritage…well, I would reserve judgment and hope they would as well.

"Why did you help us?" The Rider pulled his hands underneath his legs so they were in front of him. He gritted his teeth against the pain.

I frowned. "You aren't the only enemies the Ra'zac have. I tracked them to you."

"_You know?_ You know who they are?"

"Certainly."

The boy, for Rider or not, that was really what he was, drew a breath and hesitated. He half-glanced at the Dragon and then, apparently making up his mind, muttered, "_Jierda_!"

The ropes snapped off his wrists. He rubbed his hands to get the blood flowing, sucking in rapid breaths.

Magic.

_He could use magic._

His eyes closed as he steeled himself to stand, but he barely rose an inch before he staggered back and fell down, unable to bear his own weight.

I hurried toward him, but the Dragon growled again. I stopped short and said churlishly. "I would have helped you earlier, but your dragon wouldn't let me near you."

"Her name's Saphira," he said through tightly gritted teeth even as he shot his dragon a look of exasperation. She let out a snort and folded her wings against so body and gave me a look that spoke plainly of distrust. "And I am Eragon."

I eyed her warily as I came forward; I grasped the boy's arm and gingerly pulled him to his feet. He yelped and would have collapsed were it not for my support. I slowly led him to the fire where the old bard lay on his back and helped him to the ground beside him.

"How is he?"

"Bad," I told him. "The knife went right between his ribs." The boy leaned forward but I held him still. "You can look at him in a minute, but first we'd better see how much damage the Ra'zac did to you."

Gently, I helped the Rider remove his shirt, carefully so that none of his contusions would be inflamed by the movements.

"Well?"

I whistled.

A blotchy bruise extended down his left side. The red, swollen skin was broken in several places. I pressed a hand lightly on the bruise.

He yelled, more out of surprise than anything else.

The dragon growled a warning.

I glanced fleetingly in her direction. "You have some broken ribs. It's hard to tell, but at least two, maybe more. You're quite lucky you're not coughing up blood."

I went into their packs by the fire and opened it. I found their utensils, rations of food, and blankets. I tore the blanket into strips and bound his chest. I moved beside the older man and tore open the side of his tunic. In one swift motion, I yanked out the knife. The wound was short and thin, belying its depth, and made worse by the Seithr oil that infected in the inside of the wound.

The man's body trembled violently and then stilled back into a stupor.

I used more of the strips to bandage the wound. But the boy crept over besides and with probing finger, pulled the bandages away from the man's body.

"I wouldn't do that. He'll bleed to death without it." I warned him.

He ignored me and continued to examine the wound.

_Stupid boy._

Blood streamed out of it.

He pulled off his gloves and his dragon edged next to him, both staring intently at the wound. The Rider held an unsteady hand over the wound and said, "_Waíse heill_!"

His palm glowed.

I stood aside, watching as the man's skin flowed together like hot wax, molding smoothly, leaving the exterior unblemished, as if it had never been broken. It was over quickly.

As the light vanished, he sat back, a queasy expression on his countenance. He looked to him dragon and she nodded.

I ignored their silent conversation and asked, "Is he completely healed?"

"I can only mend what is on the surface. I don't know enough to fix whatever is damaged inside. It's up to him now. I've done all I can." He closed his eyes for a moment. "My…my head seems to be floating in clouds."

"You probably need to eat, I'll make broth." I offered.

I again dug through the provisions he had brought and made the bare fixings necessary for a watery, mealy sort of soup. It was probably better this way, after this ordeal, his body – Dragon Rider or not – could not handle any strong substance.

While I prepared it, I could sense him watching me inquisitively.

Finished, I handed him the broth. He inhaled it and set the bowl aside. "How long has it been since the Ra'zac fled?"

"A few hours."

"We have to go before they return with reinforcements."

_Obviously._

"You might be able to travel, but he can't. You don't get up and ride away after being stabbed between the ribs."

He turned to his dragon and they again began to converse silently. He turned back to me moments later.

"Finished?" I muttered balefully.

He didn't hear me, but the dragon huffed.

"Saphira can carry him, but we need a litter. Can you make one? I don't have the strength."

I gave him a supercilious look. "Wait here."

I drew my sword and traipsed from the camp. I only had to walk a little ways into the wood to find two fit saplings. I severed them and returned to the Rider's side. I laid them parallel on the ground besides the blanket he had drawn from his bag. I tied the blanket securely between the two poles and then tied the old bard to the makeshift litter.

Saphira grasped the saplings and laboriously took flight.

I smiled at the sight. "I never thought I would see a sight like that."

As I watched her disappear into the dark sky, Eragon grunted as he picked himself up, holding himself upright by his sword, "Thank you for helping us. You should leave now." He hoisted himself with a grimace onto his horse. "Ride as far away from us as you can. You'll be in danger if the Empire finds you with us. We can't protect you, and I wouldn't see harm come to you on our account."

I snorted derisively. "A pretty speech." I ground out the fire. A wounded bard, a fifteen-year-old Dragon Rider, and his temperamental dragon, and _I_ was in danger? "Where will _you _go? Is there a place nearby that you can rest in safety?"

"No," admitted Eragon.

"In that case, I think I'll accompany you until you're out of danger. I've no better place to be. Besides, if I stay with you, I might get another shot at the Ra'zac sooner than if I were on my own. Interesting things are bound to happen around a Rider."

Eragon's eyes glinted as he took in my measured expression and stolid response. Finally, he shrugged. "Join us if you wish."

I mounted Tornac and followed Eragon at a canter from the camp into the wilderness. We rode easily; an oxbow moon provided waning light, but I knew that it would only make it easier for the Ra'zac to track us. We rode until we saw the first rays of the dawn break the darkness.

Eragon slowed abruptly, without warning and I guessed his dragon had convinced him to stop and rest for the time being. He waited until he was alongside me and said shortly, "Saphira has discovered a good place to stay, about two miles ahead of where we are. Brom needs our attention and she is tired."

In a few minutes, we found her sitting at the base of a broad sandstone formation that curved out of the ground like a great hill. Its sides were pocked with caves of varying sizes. Similar domes were scattered across the nearby land.

Saphira looked pleased with herself.

I examined the cave. It was large enough for the horses as well the dragon and three humans. No one would know we were here unless they walked up to the cave and looked directly into its mouth.

The cavern was a good hundred feet long and more than twenty feet wide, yet it had a small opening that would protect us from bad weather and prying eyes. Darkness swallowed the far end, clinging to the walls like mats of soft black wool.

I hurried off to gather firewood as Eragon untied and settled Brom. When I returned with kindling, he was intently inspecting the man's face. Saphira had set him on a small rock ledge at the rear of the cave. Eragon clasped Brom's limp hand and anxiously watched his craggy face.

After a few minutes, he sighed heavily.

Dinner was a silent event.

Eragon attempted to give Brom water, but the old man would not drink. I did not say what I knew to be true. Rider or not, this boy could not save him. Brom's hours were numbered.

I slept restively, my dreams plagued by the Ra'zac and Galbatorix all of whom hissed at me with forked tongues, Galbatorix more persuasively sibilant than the black creatures of carrion. _"Think of the dream,_" he leered at me.

And far after the dream faded, I could see the glint of his hungry eyes in the stars glittering menacingly in the nightscape above; feel their gaze on me from scores of miles away.

-x-

I jolted awake.

The air in the cavern was stiflingly hot by the midday sun, but that was not what had woken me. A little ways away, Saphira was growling quietly. She had crawled up beside Brom and she was watching him intently.

She threw a glance at Eragon who was sleeping soundly and growled still loudly.

He twitched and continued to sleep.

I leapt up and scampered across the sandy cave floor to Brom's side. While we slept, he had fallen off the ledge where Saphira had placed him. The muscles in his face were spasming as if he were fighiting the urge to scream in terrible pain.

Behind me, I heard Eragon wake at a particular loud snarl from his Dragon. He joined me beside Brom hastily.

Brom's face went rigid and suddenly he was thrashing uncontrollably, frothing at the mouth, unintelligible sounds emanating from him.

"Hold him down!" I said to Eragon. "Or he'll hurt himself."

Eragon threw himself atop the man and together we restrained Brom until his convulsions ceased and his clenched fists relaxed. Then we carefully returned him to the ledge.

I touched his forehead. The skin was so hot that the heat could be felt an inch away. "Get water and a cloth," I ordered.

Eragon brought them mutely and bathed Brom's face gently, trying to cool him down. The man's eyes snapped open and he seized Eragon's shoulder.

"You!" he gasped. "Bring me the wineskin!"

"Brom?" exclaimed Eragon, pleased to hear him talk. "You shouldn't drink wine; it'll only make you worse."

"Bring it, boy—just bring it...," sighed Brom. His hand slipped off Eragon's shoulder.

"I'll be right back—hold on." Eragon dashed to his saddlebags and rummaged through them frantically. "I can't find it!" he cried, looking around desperately.

"Here, take mine." I thrust it in his hands.

Eragon grabbed it and returned to Brom. "I have the wine," he said, kneeling.

I retreated a few steps backward.

At Brom's edict, Eragon appeared to be washing his palm. "More," croaked Brom and Eragon splashed wine haphazardly onto his hand. He scrubbed vigorously as a brown dye floated off Brom's palm, then stopped, his mouth agape with amazement.

A silver-blue insignia shone resiliently on the heel of his hand.

Brom was a Rider! And then, something clicked into place. I had never assimilated Brom, the bard, with the eponymous murderer of my father. But here he was. The very same.

And yet, I felt no anger toward him. No loathing, no want for revenge. I wasn't going to delude myself that Morzan was a man worth something alive. He had been a terrible father and most likely even a less admirable being.

I retreated farther backward, processing this information as Eragon, Saphira, and Brom exchanged goodbyes. Eragon wept more and more bitterly as the hours passed.

Finally, Brom turned his head heavenward and said stolidly, "And now," he murmured, "for the greatest adventure of all."

Eragon clutched his hand and kept vigil on through the night beside the still man. The hours passed and a gray pallor crept over the man's face. His eyes dimmed and his skin grew icy to the touch. As a barren silence dampened the air, he stiffened and his hand in Eragon's fell limp.

"Brom!" Eragon choked out. "Murtagh! Help me!"

But there was nothing anyone could do.

Brom's eyes locked with Eragon and a look of pure ecstasy spread across the man's face. A whisper of air came from his lips.

And he was dead.

Fingers trembling, Eragon closed Brom's eyes and stood mutely. Saphira raised her head behind him and roared mournfully at the sky, keening her lamentation. Tears rolled down Eragon's cheeks and out of respect, I kept my silence.

Eragon turned to me finally and said in halting speech, "We have to bury him."

I quickly quelled the expression of mingled outrage and incredulity that was rising on my face. We did not have time for theatrics. The Ra'zac were probably upon us at this very moment—as callous as it sounded, we had wasted precious hours waiting out Brom's death.

"We might be seen," I said warningly.

"I don't care!"

I watched his face. It reminded me of when Tornac and I had been escaping. The instant I had turned to see if I could save him. The look we had exchanged, the message on his face so clear, to go on and never look back. If I could have buried him, given him the honor he deserved as his friend, his tutee, his son…

I heaved Brom's body across my shoulder and bore him out of the cave, Eragon carrying his sword and staff. Saphira followed us.

"To the top," Eragon said thickly, indicating the crown of the sandstone hill.

There, I lay Brom on the stone. "We can't dig a grave out of stone," I objected.

"I can do it."

Eragon climbed onto the smooth hilltop, struggling because of his ribs. He wiped his eyes and fixed his gaze on the sandstone. Gesturing with his hand, he said, "_Moi_ _stenr_!"

The stone rippled, like a pebbled pond. It flowed like water, forming a body-length depression in the hilltop. Molding the sandstone like wet clay, he raised waist-high walls around it.

We laid Brom inside the unfinished sandstone vault with his staff and sword. Stepping back, Eragon again shaped the stone with magic. It joined over Brom's motionless face and flowed upward into a tall faceted spire.

Then, with a motion like he was stabbing the air, he set runes into the stone that read merely:

_HERE LIES BROM_

_WHO WAS A DRAGON RIDER_

_AND LIKE A FATHER TO ME TO ME_

_MAY HIS NAME LIVE ON IN GLORY._

Then he bowed his head and mourned freely. He stood like a living statue until evening, when light faded from the land. Even when the night air grew frosty, I did not have the heart to tell him to come in.

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><p><em><strong>If you'd like me to update more frequently, please, send me money so I can buy a computer. Or better yet, just review :)<strong>_


	7. Chapter 6, Legacy

_**The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN.**_

_I really wish someone had commented on how, in the previous chapter, I made a point of having Murtagh say SEVERAL TIMES how in spite of being a Dragon Rider, Eragon is really just a kid. I mean, REALLY!_

_Throughout the whole series everyone sees Eragon as some sort of god even though he makes so many mistakes out of sheer naiveté and inexperience. And Saphira totally feeds his hero complex, ugh. At least in HP, Harry knew he was average and didn't try to be anything but modest. Seriously, Eragon needs to get off his high horse, er, dragon. #murtaghfan #isitobvious  
><em>

_xoxo —ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

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><p><em>Chapter 6, Legacy<em>

I watched as tear slid down Eragon's listless face and evaporated in the sunlight, leaving a salty crust on his cheek. He closed his eyes and absorbed the warmth of the setting sun. With a fingernail, he aimlessly scratched the sandstone.

_Why?_ was slashed across the sandy surface.

"How are you?" I asked quietly, looking away and skewering a pair of rabbits I had snared earlier.

"Very ill."

"Will you recover?" I asked, my manner businesslike.

Eragon shrugged.

Words were bubbling to my mouth almost irrepressibly. So many questions and yet this was not the time for most. But even after a few minutes of reflection, I could hold my tongue no longer.

"I dislike asking this at such a time, but I must know…Is your Brom, _the_ Brom? The one who helped steal a dragon egg from the king, chased it across the Empire, and killed Morzan in a duel? I heard you say his name, and I read the inscription you put on his grave, but I must know for certain, was that he?"

"It was." A troubled expression crossed Eragon's face.

Here it was again, the lurking suspicion that would only grow stronger that when I told him whose son I was. he would lash out out at me, just as everyone else had.

"How do you know all that?" He asked slowly. "You talk about things that are secret to most, and you were trailing the Ra'zac right when we needed help. Are you one of the Varden?"

I scoffed derisively at the mention of the resistance. "I'm running away, like you. I do not belong to either the Varden or the Empire. I owe allegiance to no man but myself. As for my rescuing you, I will admit that I've heard whispered tales of a new Rider and reasoned that by visiting the Ra'zac I might discover if the rumors were true."

"I thought you wanted to kill the Ra'zac," said Eragon.

I smiled grimly. "I do, but if I had, I never would have met you." _But Brom would still be alive… _I sensed he thought this, too.

Eragon scrutinized me and just as I began to regret bringing the topic up at all, I felt a feather-light touch graze my consciousness. Instinctively, walls shot up. Seamless iron-hard walls shot up, fortifying my entire mind.

Him.

I stared at him blankly, measuredly. I could sense that his mind was still weak, easily penetrable. Forget the ancient language, I could easily have overtaken him, but that wouldn't have endeared me. And there was still the dragon who no matter how young was infinitely strong than I.

I did not look away, until he resigned his attempts.

"Where is Saphira?" Eragon asked finally, tiring.

"I don't know. She followed me for a time when I went hunting, then flew off on her own. I haven't seen her since."

Eragon rocked onto his feet and returned to the cave.

I followed.

"What are you going to do now?"

"I'm not sure."

He rolled up his blankets and tied them to his horse's saddle bags with a grimace that intimated his pain. I continued to prepare the rabbits, keeping one eye on the boy. He shifted things in his bags and pulled out a long slim sheath.

The red scabbard glinted brightly as he unsheathed a longsword. With a shudder he pulled off his bow and belted on the sword.

With a jolt, I realized where I had seen the sword before. I had known it intimately; it had left marks on my own body. Viscerally, I touched the base of the long, running scar on my side.

"That sword, may I see it?"

Reluctantly, he nodded and handed it to me.

I examined the runes on the sword keenly. The red sheath glimmered and I wondered how many foes' bloods had turned it this menacing burgundy tone. I scrutinized it longer than necessary—I had recognized it immediately, of course.

"Where did you get this?" I asked stiffly.

"Brom gave it to me. Why?"

I shoved it back to him, crossing my arms angrily, breathing angrily through my nose. "That sword was once as well-known as its owner. The last Rider to carry it was Morzan, a brutal, savage man." My voice shook with emotion. "I thought you were a foe of the Empire, yet here I find you bearing one of the Forsworn's bloody swords!"

He stared at Zar'roc with genuine shock. "Brom never told me where it came from," he said. "I had no idea it was Morzan's."

Brom must have taken it from Morzan after they fought in Gil'ead.

"He never told you?" I asked, a note of disbelief in my voice. "That's strange. I can think of no reason for him to have concealed it. But then, he kept many secrets."

"Even so, I'm going to carry it. I don't have a sword of my own. Until such time as I get one, I'll use Zar'roc."

I turned away, disgusted. "It's your choice."

When the meal was ready, Eragon ate slowly but thoroughly, meticulously scraping his bowl clean of all food particles.

As they washed out their bowls, he said, "I have to sell my horse."

"Why not Brom's?" I asked, my voice still a little cool from our earlier discussion.

"Snowfire? Because Brom promised to take care of him. Since he…isn't around," he said delicately. "I'll do it for him."

I set down my bowl. "If that's what you want, I'm sure we can find a buyer in some town or village."

I wasn't sure the sentiment was quite worth the possible trouble, but it wasn't as if we could hide forever. The Ra'zac had surely reached the King and mentioned Eragon, the new Rider, and the fact that I was with him would hardly have escaped Galbatorix's notice.

"We?" asked Eragon.

I looked at him sideways in a calculating manner. "You won't want to stay here for much longer. If the Ra'zac are nearby, Brom's tomb will be like a beacon for them."

Eragon looked startled at the thought. Clearly, he had not considered this. The boy still had so much to learn if he was going to oppose the King.

"And your ribs are going to take time to heal. I know you can defend yourself with magic, but you need a companion who can lift things and use a sword. I'm asking to travel with you, at least for the time being. But I must warn you, the Empire is searching for me. There will be blood over it eventually."

Eragon laughed weakly and grimaced in pain. Once his breath was back, he said, "I don't care if the entire army is searching for you. You're right. I do need help. I would be glad to have you along, though I have to talk to Saphira about it. But I have to warn you, Galbatorix just might send the entire army after me. You won't be any safer with Saphira and me than if you were on your own."

_Challenged accepted. _"I know that," I said with a grin. "But all the same, it won't stop me."

Saphira crawled into the mouth of the cave and Eragon met her. They greeted each other tenderly, trying to renew each other's spirits. They talked in their silent manner for several minutes. Finally, Eragon turned back to me and related their conversation.

They planned to go ahead to Gil'ead to find a woman named Dormnad who would direct them to the Varden.

Saphira laid her big blue head on the floor heavily so that several stalactites fells to the floor with a crash.

"I see. Then, if you find this Dormnad and then continue on to the Varden, I will leave you. Encountering the Varden would be as dangerous for me as walking unarmed into Urû'baen with a fanfare of trumpets to announce my arrival."

"We won't have to part anytime soon," protested Eragon. "It's a long way to Gil'ead." His voice cracked slightly, and he squinted at the sun to distract himself. "We should leave before the day grows any older."

"Are you strong enough to travel?" I asked, frowning.

"I have to do something or I'll go crazy," said Eragon brusquely. "Sparring, practicing magic, or sitting around twiddling my thumbs aren't good options right now, so I choose to ride."

So I doused the fire, packed, and we led the horses out of the cave. At the mouth, he handed Cadoc's and Snowfire's reins to me, saying, "Go on, I'll be right down."

I began the slow descent from the cave as Eragon struggled up the sandstone, resting when his side made it impossible to breathe.

Several minutes later, the sandstone in the air glittered and hummed, turning clear with dancing silver highlights. I watched in wonder as tendrils of white diamond twisted over the tomb's surface in a web of priceless filigree. Sparkling shadows were cast on the ground, reflecting splashes of brilliant colors that shifted dazzlingly as the sandstone continued to change.

With a satisfied snort that carried, Saphira stepped back and examined her handiwork.

The sculpted sandstone mausoleum of moments before had been transformed into a sparkling gemstone vault—under which Brom's corpse lay.

Eragon knelt, his head bowed.

Then Rider turned to Dragon and together they turned to the face the rising sun.

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><p><em><strong>This is kind of a sappy chapter although I have a soft spot for the ending. <strong>**Anyway, hope you liked it. ****Sorry, I know it's shorter than usual, but I just had to get something out today, or I would lose it » If you would like me to post more often, send me money I can buy a computer, or, you know, you could just REVIEW!**_


	8. Chapter 7, Abandoned

_**The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN.**_

_I am so sorry I haven't updated. I've been so busy with school and work and my boyfriend, yadda yadda yadda. I know you don't care so here's the next chapter :) But yay, this chapter is ACTION-PACKED!_

_PS. Let me know if you pick up on the foreshadowing for the whole Eragon-Murtagh brothas-from-one-mutha revelation._

_PPS. I know Dormnad is claimed to be a man, but considering we never meet him, I like to think Dormnad is actually a woman, as we have so few female characters that I'm able to take some license with her – but also mostly because Dormnad just sounds feminine to me._

_xoxo —ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

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><p><em>Chapter 7, Abandoned<em>

Riding was an extremely painful process, for _all_ of us.

Eragon's broken ribs preventing him from riding faster than a mild cantering.

Saphira, in a show of solidarity, I suppose, felt compelled to fly close by.

Predictably, this is made the horses anxious and prone to nervous galloping, which would set Eragon back several miles as he attempted to subdue the subsequent pain.

All of this was taking its own toll on me, leaving me constantly on edge. It wasn't the unbearably slow pace as much as it was the feeling of constantly being watched, like a prickly feeling on the nape of my neck.

We were riding on open land toward Gil'ead with nowhere to hide to seek shelter if we were attacked and I wanted to move as quickly as possible.

After another of his horse's skittish forays, Eragon eyed my own animal almost enviously. He seemed to still be acquainting himself with Brom's steed having sold his own Cadoc. "You have a beautiful horse. What's his name?"

"Tornac…after the man who taught me how to fight." I patted the horse's side. "He was given to me when he was just a foal though my friend raised him. You'd be hard pressed to find a more courageous and intelligent animal in all of Alagaësia, Saphira excepted, of course." I added, as an afterthought.

"He _is_ magnificent," agreed Eragon admiringly.

"Yes," I agreed, ruffling his mane affectionately.

We made for very slow travel that day although I was simply relieved to be moving. We gave Dras-Leona a wide berth as we rode on toward Gil'ead.

And Eragon when not distracted by his dragon kept lively conversation with me. I was pleased to see that despite being of very little education, he was properly interested and learned in archery, sword fighting, and hunting. As much as we conversed and as familiar as I grew with the Rider and his Dragon, we reached a tacit truce about certain topics.

Eragon did not ask me why the King sought my head and as I was loathe to give him a reason to dislike me, I did not reveal my intimate history with his sword. In turn, though I was curious, I did not ask him about his past although he did reveal that the Ra'zac had slain his uncle and he had fought them with Saphira's help, and that Brom had served as a mentor to him in all things of a magical nature.

A week passed without any whispers of the Ra'zac, which mollified me. However, I still insisted we keep watches throughout the night.

However, as the days slipped by, a new fear emerged: notices featuring his name and description—and offering a substantial reward for his capture— were posted in various towns.

And so I was becoming less and less inclined to Eragon's jail forays. He claimed images of a woman in dire straits were plaguing his dreams and insisted on looking into the jails of every small town and copse we passed.

Our travels forced us north, toward Urû'baen. It was still being heavily guarded, so I took special care: at this juncture Eragon's head was worth more than mine, but Galbatorix would be pleased with either. With soldiers guarding every fallen log and patrols on the roads, it was several tense days before we were past.

When Eragon was finally completely healed, I breathed easier. When he unwrapped his side for the last time, he showed me a small scar on his side that mirrored mine.

But more astonishing than Eragon's rapid recovery was the rate at which Saphira was growing. Her wings were massive; every inch of them was needed to lift her muscular body and thick bones. At only six months, the fangs that jutted from her jaw were nearly as thick around as my fists and as sharp as my father's sword.

One night as Eragon reveled in regained a full range of motion, I sat next to a small fire I had stoked, idly whittling a piece of wood. There was a metallic _swish_ and I whipped toward to Eragon warily. He had unsheathed my father's sword. I stared the blade, tense.

"Now that I am strong enough, would you like to spar?" Eragon asked. He had kept his voice light, possibly seeing the tension on my face, but misunderstanding it.

I blinked and looked up into his youthful face. "With sharpened swords?" I asked, a derisive edge in my voice. "We could kill each other."

"Here, lend me your sword." Hesitantly, I handed my hand-and-a-half sword to him.

He murmured several words in the Ancient language and handed it back to me. Its edges glowed every so softly red.

I tried to tap the sword with my finger, but it was blocked with a half-inch of air.

"I can undo it once we're finished," Eragon added hurriedly as he repeated the spell on my father's sword, as if I couldn't understand magic.

I swung my sword around, testing its balance. Pleased, I nodded to him.

Eragon settled into a crouch and I mirrored his stance.

A moment before we began, I marveled at what I was doing: the privilege to spar with a Rider was every man's dream, though most would not have settled for the runt of the litter that was Eragon.

Eragon engaged me with a flourish, thrust, and then riposted as I parried, dancing away. We struggled back and forth, trying to batter each other down.

He was quicker than I would have expected considering how little formal training Brom had imparted to him before his death, though that was probably due to the changes being a Rider had impinged on him.

Mid-blow, I started laughing, half-gasping for breath, holding one hand up. Not only was it impossible for either of us to gain an advantage, but we were so evenly matched that we tired at the same rate.

Eragon grinned, relaxing as well. "You're amazing! You could be the king's weapon master if you wanted to," he exclaimed

"You're just as good," I said, still panting. "I've studied swordplay all my life, but never have I fought one like you."

"The man who taught you—Tornac? He could make a fortune with a fencing school. People would come from all parts of Alagaësia to learn from him." Eragon said, still winded as well.

I smiled sadly. "He's dead."

"I'm sorry." Eragon looked taken aback and something in his expression solidified, as if he suddenly understood something.

We made it customary to spar in the evening after riding. Afterwards, Eragon practiced magic as I watched curiously.

I revealed that although I knew certainly a scholarly amount about the Ancient language through my princely studies and my parents – though I did not mention the latter – I could not use it though Eragon would explain it to me as he spoke it.

And as we came closer to Gil'ead, the Rider slept restlessly still, as if the Ra'zac tormented him even in his sleep.

-x-

Nearly a month since we had escaped Helgrind with little more than our lives, we reached Gil'ead.

The metropolis was nothing like I'd seen before.

It distinguished itself as a rudimentary, barbaric place, marked by log barracks, the yells of busy men, and barking dogs. Even at our camp, two miles from the edge of the city, we breathed the blue hazy, smoky air.

Previously, we had agreed that I should be the one to venture into Gil'ead to find Dormnad, but now that he was healthy and the moment was nigh, Eragon was reluctant to stay behind.

"Shouldn't we rest and wait until tomorrow?" asked Eragon uncertainly.

"Why? The longer we stay here, the greater the chance that we'll be discovered. If this Dormnad can take you to the Varden, then she needs to be found as quickly as possible. Neither of us should remain near Gil'ead longer than a few days."

"I can disguise myself very well as you know," Eragon was again attempting to change my mind. "I'm not sure you should be the one to go into Gil'ead. Dormnad will want to see the gedwëy ignasia as proof that I really am a Rider."

Saphira – in wanting to protect her Rider, had agreed with me – snorted, sending a smoke ring skyward.

"Eragon," I sighed. "At the moment, the Empire wants you much more than me. If I'm captured, I could eventually escape. But if you are taken, they'll drag you to the king, where you'll be in for a slow death by torture—unless you join him." He showed every sign of interrupting so I added quickly, "Besides, Those aren't houses out there; they're barracks. Gil'ead is one of the army's major staging points. Going in there would be like handing yourself to the king on a gilded platter."

Eragon looked to Saphira for support and in response, she wrapped her tail around his legs, trapping him to her side.

I smirked.

"All right, you can go," he said reluctantly. "But if anything goes wrong, I'm coming after you."

I laughed outrightly. "That would be fit for a troubadour's tale: how a lone Rider took on the king's army single-handedly." I sheathed my newly sharpened sword. "Is there anything I should know before going?"

Saphira had already given me certain words in the Ancient language from Brom that would convince Dormnad of the veracity of my claims, but now the two of them simply looked unnerved at the predicament.

"Very well." I gave them a short smile that was meant to comfort. "Unless there's trouble, I'll be back within a couple of hours. Make sure there's some food left for me," I added teasingly.

I climbed onto Tornac and rode away quickly.

I was right—there were soldiers everywhere—it would have been foolish for Eragon to come himself, even in disguise.

There were no notices for me in this region yet, so I did not raise any suspicion entering the city. I pretended to be interested in trading for wine.

Brom had told Saphira that Dormnad kept front as a tavernkeeper, wherefrom she ran an underground resistance, transporting people and supplies to and from the Varden and Surda.

However, it took me most of the night to find the tavern as I staggered around in the dark, requesting directions and attempting to not draw attention to myself.

The tavern, which I finally found at the heart of the city, was busy, even in the dead of night, filled to burst with traders, soldiers, and slaves. Dormnad was a woman with a severe, broad face. She had vestigial beauty from her youth, but time had not faired her well.

I sidled up to the bar, waiting for the group of rowdy men in front of me to collect their full tankards and leave.

"What can I get ye?" She asked me brusquely.

"Pint of mead will do." I said, casting my eyes around for any onlookers within earshot. Finding none, I slapped a few coins down on the wood.

She handed it to me, with a quick suspicious glance as she counted the coins.

"Tables are filled mos'ly up in here, but there are more outside if ye like."

"Thank you." And then in a quiet undertone, I added, "_Du vindr waíse bjart medh skular." _It was an underground phrase murmured among the resistance, used to identity co-conspirators, allies, and friends. Saphira had painstakingly taught me the proper pronunciations—it meant _the sky is bright with scales_, or Dragons.

Dormnad's head jerked up, her beady eyes scrutinizing me.

"Brom instructed me here," I muttered.

"I've heard rumors of a new Rider. So it's true, then?" She asked, leaning closer to me under the pretext of filling my tankard. "Is that who the notices are for, then? Where is Brom?"

"He is dead. We met the Ra'zac along the way. But he requires your help still; the new Dragon Rider needs to find the Varden. Without him, any hope of opposition is lost. I don't think it wise to linger in these troubled times, so we would request that we leave immediately."

She frowned. "I would to meet this _Rider_ that no one has ever actually seen before I lay my life down for him." She moved aside to refill another man's tankard and when she returned, she said quickly, "Tell your Rider and his Dragon to meet at the knoll behind the city. Go southwest when you leave the main gates around the perimeter. I will be there at dusk. Tell your Rider that he had better show himself."

I finished my tumbler of mead, enjoying the loose sensation it gave me, but I did not indulge in another. I needed my wits about me.

The city was beginning to wake, when I left the tavern and slowly wended my way back to the northern gate. I took my time, carefully leading Tornac through the thick crowd, keeping my ears and eyes sharp for gossips and any signs of trouble.

I was almost at the gate when someone grasped my shoulder firmly.

Even as I turned around, I was reaching into my shirt for the familiar short dagger I always kept with me, while my other hand tightened around Tornac's reins, in case I needed to make a quick getaway.

"Murtagh?"

Even in the busy street, surrounded by the thrush of traffic going every which way, I recognized that voice even before I turned to face him.

Gorm.

He was staring at me in well-deserved shock – it had been eons since I had shown my face in Galbatorix's court, obviously. And as a courtier, he clearly knew why.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. "The last I heard of you was that you were offered a position in the King's court. I heard what happened though. He weren't happy at all, I hear. No one went near him for a week. But how could you have made it here? There's a ransom for you in Urû'baen—"

Mid-babble, I yanked my shoulder out of his grasp, and clambered quickly on to Tornac and spurred him to a brisk gallop toward the gates. My sudden action excited the surrounding crowd as Tornac knocked a woman over in my haste.

There were shouts behind me, but I knew I wouldn't be stopped. I was not who the soldiers were looking for, although it wouldn't have been wise to linger long enough for them to realize that I had a bounty on my head as well.

I urged Tornac even faster. It was imperative that we reshift our campsite in the case that that fool Gorm run his mouth right to the soldiers.

I glanced behind me as I left the city.

No one, but that meant nothing. Someone could easily have tailed me out of the outskirts, cut around me, and still tracked me to the others, or tracked me from the parapets.

I slowed as I reached the campsite, finding Eragon and Saphira up in arms.

"Were you watching?" I asked breathlessly. "Did anyone follow me from Gil'ead?"

"We didn't see anyone."

"Good. Then let me eat before I explain. I'm starving." I seized a bowl of stew and began eating with gusto. After a few sloppy bites, I said through a full mouth, "Dormnad has agreed to meet us outside Gil'ead at sunrise tomorrow. If she is satisfied you really are a Rider and that it's not a trap, she'll take you to the Varden."

"Where are we supposed to meet her?" Eragon asked.

I pointed west. "There is a small hill across the road and a paddock. She will show himself there and take us from there tonight at dusk."

Eragon and Saphira watched me eat and then, unable to handle the tension, he blurted out, "So? What happened? Why do you look so harassed?"

I poured myself a second bowl of stew. "It's a rather simple thing," I said between renewed gulps. "But all the more deadly because of it: I was seen in the street by someone who knows me. I did the only thing I could and ran away. It was too late, though; he recognized me."

"Since I don't know your friend, I have to ask: Will he tell anyone?" He asked tentatively, as though afraid to offend.

I laughed contemptuously. "If you _had_ met him, that wouldn't need answering. His mouth is loosely hinged and hangs open all the time, vomiting whatever happens to be in his mind. The question isn't _whether_ he will tell people, but _whom_ he will tell."

Eragon blanched. "If word of this reaches the wrong ears, we'll be in trouble."

"I doubt that soldiers will be sent to search for me just yet," I added out. "We can at least count on being safe until dusk, and by then, if all goes well, you'll be leaving with Dormnad."

"I?" Eragon stared at me unhappily.

I shook my head resolutely. "As I said before, I won't go to the Varden."

-x-

I slept restlessly, plagued by dreams of angry black dragons and hungry Ra'zac. I revisited the night of my meeting with Galbatorix. His dragon, instead of being reposed, came alive and began to destroy the city. As he began to devour me whole, I jerked awake.

It was Eragon's shift for watch so when I didn't see him I was alarmed.

I leapt up silently and immediately caught sight of him on the other side of Saphira. He was looking around suspiciously.

When he saw that I was awake, he crept over to me, handing me my sheath. "Saphira scents horses nearby, but I have seen nothing amiss as of yet."

I drew my sword wordlessly, stationing myself beside Saphira, waiting. As we waited, the morning star rose in the east. A squirrel chattered excitedly, a brisk morning rushed through the trees—

An angry snarl cut through the quiet morning air—

I spun around, sword held aloft.

A broad Urgal stood at the edge of the camp, carrying a mattock with a nasty spike, teeth bared. The Urgal roared and waved his weapon, but did not charge.

_Where did he come from?_

"_Brisingr_!" barked Eragon, stabbing out with magic.

The Urgal's face contorted with terror as he exploded in a flash of blue light. Blood splattered Eragon, and a brown mass flew through the air.

I whipped around. "_Eragon, no!_" I shouted.

While he had been occupied with the first Urgal, a group of them had run up from the side. Behind me, Saphira bugled an alarm and reared.

I fell upon them ferociously. Steel clashed loudly as Urgal swing at my shoulder. I ducked and parried, catching him in the abdomen and gutting him like a fish. I wheeled wildly and slashed another through the chest. A fourth Urgal ran pell-mell toward me swinging a heavy mace. I blocked the blow, feeling my sword vibrate on impact.

I heard Eragon scream and I whirled away from my opponent toward him.

Saphira shrieked in anger. As I came around her, I saw Eragon collapse and I rushed toward the Urgal, determined to put him to a quick end.

There was a flash of light and a man materialized in the midst of the chaos. His appearance seemed to the bolster the Urgals' morale as they converged upon Saphira and me again.

The man turned toward me and smiled, showing teeth filed to points.

Ice-cold fear lanced through my heart.

No, not a man. His eyes, red as blood, crinkled in glee as he saw Eragon on the ground. He was tall and very thin with translucent skin and a cunning sneer. His face was little more than a skull, with deathly white skin pulled back to give the appearance of life.

A Shade.

_"FLY SAPHIRA!"_ Eragon screamed before I saw him faint away.

She grabbed me in her claws and unfurled her wings, sending several Urgals flying through the air. The Shade did not attempt to stop us as she took flight.

He did not need to.

What Dragon would leave her Rider behind?

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><p><strong><em>All your questions will be answered. If you review!<em>**


	9. Chapter 8, Rescue

_**The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN.**_

_You get two chapters in a row! Don't you just love me? I was just in the zone and today and I was just churning out new stuff._

_I actually am kind of satisfied with this chapter because this is all from my imagination! There was nothing I could find, rooted in solid-Paolini fact about most of the Murtagh stuff in this chapter. Hope the fight scenes aren't too unbearable. They're not my forte to be honest. Enjoy, and tell me what you think._

_xoxo —ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 8, Rescue<em>

I could hear my heart pounding spastically, blood thudding in my ears as Saphira beat her wings desperately and yet reluctantly.

I could see Eragon getting smaller and smaller, and finally disappear from sight as the Shade stood over him. Her Rider was left behind and I was rescued – I couldn't understand it.

_You saved me_. I told her, telepathically. _Why? How could you leave your Rider?_

_This was the plan_, she said sadly. _We did not while away the time when you were in the city. If we were attacked and there was no hope for Eragon to be saved, I should take off._

_But, you saved me?_

She laughed haughtily. _I did not say that I agreed with the plan, but you have done Eragon and I a great service. Dragons do not forget. I would not have left you even if Eragon could be saved._

_But Eragon? The resistance? The Varden? _My mind spun with the thought that Galbatorix had won.

_Make peace with yourself, Murtagh. Be reasonable. It would to take Galbatorix at least a week's time to travel here. Meanwhile, he has no interest to kill Eragon, he would only enslave him._

"Then..." I was heartened. "We have a critical window: within the next day, we must retake him, or…"

Saphira made a keening noise that spoke plainly of melancholy.

All would be lost.

-x-

During the fight, our horses had run loose. We spied both aerially and guided them into a thick copse that would give Saphira and I shelter for a few hours' rest and recuperation before we laid siege again.

We awoke a few short hours later, I smeared my face with dust and stole back into the city, leaving our steeds parked a ways off; Saphira remained behind, waiting in the wings for a signal from me—or Eragon.

We had surmised that the most likely place of imprisonment would be at the center of the soldiers' quarters. There, against the backdrop of hundreds of prowling solders was a large, severe stone castle.

But dressed as I was, I could not simply walk into the barracks. I traded my neat tunic and pants for a beggarman's ragged wear, which consisted mainly of one large gray-brown sheet that he had wrapped around himself.

For another few coins, he gave me his walking staff and a dirty carrying pouch, where I stowed a small bow, a quiver of arrows, and a small dagger for close ranges. He also allowed me to trim his long, scraggly beard and fashion a disguise for myself.

Thoroughly unrecognizable, I attempted to adopt a wounded, vagabondish air and began a slow meandering limp into the heart of the city.

It was a nerve-wracking trek.

Every solder that glanced in my direction made my palms sweat and my heart palpitate. Many men who walked by made sport by shoving me in to a wall or a puddle of mud, so that by the time I reached the castle wall, I was more bruised and dirty than I had never hoped to be in all my life.

There was already a vagrant assembled at the entrance, below a high window that I assessed cursorily. The stone wall seemed bare for purchase—I would have to find another way inside than to scale it.

Casually, I struck up a conversation with the vagabond. To my queries he gave me halting, terse answers. Finally, he scrutinized me calculatingly, "Methinks you want to get inside the castle. I would warn you against it. If you are caught, it will mean yer life."

"So there is a way inside?" I pressed.

He laughed scornfully. "Of course, and I know it as I often steal inside for food. But, it will cost you."

And it did. It appeared beggars could be choosers for he certainly drove a hard bargain, taking every coin I had.

When the sun was highest in the sky, as he had prescribed, a guard came outside and went around the corner from the entrance and sat in front of the locked coal chute, shoveling the remains of burned coals into a basket for removal.

On cue, the beggar meandered over to him and waved his box of alms frantically in front of his face, demanding a donation. The guard swiped at him. The beggar ducked and renewed his entreaties, squawking in alarm.

This mild scuffle went on for several minutes until the guard, thoroughly agitated tossed aside the basket of coal and chased the beggar who lead him into a side street.

I hadn't a moment to lose. I hurried over to the coal chute and propped it open, shoving coal out from the catch try onto the ground and slowly inserted myself into the chute, climbing slowly up. Though coal dust was clogging my nose and mouth, I didn't dare cough, for fear of being caught.

It was filthy.

After nearly a half hour, I made my way to the top of the chute and listened intently. Silence, except for a steady grumbling sound.

I slowly pushed the chute lid outward, peering carefully out. To my right was a small kitchen and just beyond my view I could hear someone snoring gently. I climbed down, taking upmost care to keep silent and stole into the kitchen.

There was a block of cheese leftover from a wheel on the table. I took this and inspected the sleeping man. He was portly and pleasant-looking. Not a guard then. Mostly like the cook, or a scullery servant. In his hand was a large set of keys.

Carefully, I lifted them from between his fingers.

In the way I came, there was only the stone stairway, leading outside. Down the hallway opposite, there was a wide hallway nearly ten yards across. The walls were lined with cells blocked by close-set metal bars and I could peer inside— they were empty.

There was one cell on the right that could only be entered by a door with a tiny slot to look within. Peering inside, I could only see someone's feet, there rest of him were out of sight. He lay very still as if unconscious.

Up ahead there was similar cell, but the door was ajar. It was empty.

Perhaps, they were drugged. That would explain why Eragon hadn't attempted to break out himself. Or perhaps, he was at the moment locked in a deadly struggle with the Shade, attempting to retain his own sanity as the Shade tried to possess him.

_Murtagh! What have you found? _Saphira sounded tense and worried.

_I haven't found him, but I am inside and it seems that he ought to be here, perhaps kept a ways off from other prisoners because he is more valuable._

_Keep watch and be careful._

Footsteps were approaching. I raced away from them to the end of the hallway and slipped into the empty cell at the end.

A column of soldiers marched through the hall toward me, their swords drawn and ready. Every man was dressed in matching armor; their faces bore the same hard expression, and their feet came down on the floor with mechanical precision, never missing a beat. The sound was hypnotic. It was an impressive display of force.

Yet these weren't the mind-numbed deathless soldiers I had heard horror stories about—who kept going in the face of pain or wounds that would incapacitate a greater man, or perform feats that weren't tantamount to their size. The ones who unflinchingly destroyed villages, men, women, and children alike and indiscriminately.

These men were still human. I could see fleeting emotions such as tiredness and tedium on their faces.

The men stopped. From a break in the middle of the column, two men carried an unconscious woman into the open cell. As they moved, her head lolled forward and I caught sight of her face. A pointed chin and ears distinguished her.

_An elf!_

Another man stepped out of line, but he was entirely different from the rigid soldiers. He strode, a tall, proud man, a sable cape billowing behind him. His face was deathly white; his hair was red, like blood spilling out behind him, a disaster spelled out in his wake.

As he stepped into the open cell, the man turned his head and looked squarely at me with maroon eyes. His upper lip pulled back in a feral smile, revealing teeth filed to points.

Instinctively, I shrank back.

No. He had not been looking at me, but the cell next to the Elf's. He, like me, peered inside and gave a dark chuckle.

_The Shade. The same one who had taken Eragon—then Eragon must be here. But an elf? _How had Galbatorix managed to capture one? They had been in hiding ever since the fall of the Riders.

The soldiers and the Shade returned and the procession continued back down the end of the hall and silence fell again.

I ate my cheese and waited. The sun rose in the sky—it was midafternoon and I still had no clue as to where Eragon was.

Then, very quietly at the far of the hall, there was a _click_.

I couldn't be sure I heard because just then, six soldiers came through the doorway beside my cell and began to stomp down the corridor.

_Murtagh! _Saphira's voice came with alacrity. _Eragon is out. He is coming to find you in the castle. At the word, I will fly to the top of the castle and carry the two of you off._

I slipped my bow out of the beggar's pouch and tensely crept after the soldiers.

They halted abruptly and I could see what perturbed them. Eragon was frozen, half-crouching in the middle of the corridor, his cell door open.

"Charge!" yelled the foremost soldier, running forward, his sword aloft. The others followed without hesitation, drawing their weapons.

Magical or not, Eragon could certainly not handle six hardy soldiers after undergoing whatever he had seen in the past few hours. Even as he raised his marked, glowing palm, I fitted arrows to my bow and shot the foreman in the back.

Two more I struck before anyone could understand what was happening.

Eragon looked past the fallen men to me, his face wrinkled in confusion.

The three remaining men began toward me, and even as I fitted more arrows to my bow, Eragon shouted, "_Thrysta_!" The effort it cost him made him stagger and fall to his knees.

One of the men clutched his chest and fell. I released another arrow that pierced another man through the neck.

And then, there was one.

I smiled as I fitted one last arrow to my bow.

"Don't kill him!" Eragon called; I hesitated and the soldier fell to his knees, understanding that his life was being spared. "You've seen what I can do," said he harshly. "If you don't answer my questions, the rest of your life will be spent in utter misery and torment. Now where's my sword—its sheath and blade are red—and what cell is the elf in?"

The man clamped his mouth shut.

Eragon's palm glowed ominously, casting an eerie blue glow on the boy's too-young face.

"That was the wrong answer," he snapped. "Do you know how much pain a grain of sand can cause you when it's red hot and embedded in your stomach? Especially when it doesn't cool off for the next twenty years and slowly burns its way down to your toes! By the time it gets out of you, you'll be an old man." He paused for effect. "Unless you tell me what I want."

This new side of him surprised me. It was so often that he was surprised by my cavalier and callous attitude concerning others, and yet here he was being equally cold.

The soldier's eyes bulged.

Eragon scraped some dirt off the stone floor and observed dispassionately, "This is a bit more than a piece of sand, but be comforted; it'll burn through you faster. Still, it'll leave a bigger hole." At his word, the dirt shone cherry red, though it did not burn his hand.

"All right, just don't put that in me!" yelped the soldier. "The elf's in the next to last cell to the left! I don't know about your sword, but it's probably in the guardroom upstairs. All the weapons are there."

Eragon nodded, then murmured, "_Slytha_." The soldier's eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed limply.

"Did you kill him?"

He glanced at me, confused again. "Murtagh?" His eyes darted from the rags to the beard. "Is that you?" he exclaimed.

"Yes," said I said tersely. "I don't want my face seen. Did you kill him?"

"No, he's only asleep. How did you get in?"

"There's no time to explain. We have to get up to the next floor before anyone finds us. There'll be an escape route for us in a few minutes. We don't want to miss it."

"Didn't you hear what I said?" asked Eragon, gesturing at the unconscious soldier. "There's an elf in the prison. I saw her! We have to rescue her. I need your help."

_"An elf?!_" I said furiously. I had far better things to do than rescue a damned elf. "This is a mistake. We should flee while we have the chance."

But still, I stopped in front of the elf's cell and took the cook's ring of keys and tried them all in quick succession until the door swung open.

Beams of sunlight slanted through the window, illuminating the elf's face. She faced us, tense and coiled, gauging whether we meant to attack. Her eyes, dark green, almost black, and were slightly angled like a cat's—definitely an elf—glanced from me to Eragon.

Then, in a delicate movement, she fainted, crumpling into herself like a folding soufflé.

Eragon rushed forward and caught her.

"She's beautiful," I murmured.

"But hurt." Eragon said pressingly.

"We can tend to her later, _if_ we escape. Are you strong enough to carry her?" I asked. When he shook his head, I tossed him my dagger and slung the elf across my shoulders. "_Upstairs! NOW!"_

Heavy-footed, I treaded back, over the motionless bodies of the soldiers, back to the stone-hewn staircase from whence I had entered.

We climbed farther up, Eragon following. "How are we going to get out without being noticed?"

I snorted. "We're not."

At the head of the stairs was a banquet room filled with broad wooden tables. Shields lined the walls, and the wood ceiling was trussed with curved beams. I laid the elf on a table none too gently and looked at the ceiling worriedly.

"Tell Saphira to wait another five minutes," I told him, trying to hear the sounds coming from below over my labored breathing. There were shouts in the distance. I could hear the rhythmic treads of soldiers climbing past the banquet room.

"Whatever you're planning to do, I don't think we have much time." Eragon muttered, under his breath.

"Just tell her, and stay out of sight," snapped I. I pressed my ear to the door and when the footsteps passed, I dashed out. The guard had said that there was a guardroom upstairs held Eragon's sword and other weapons. I crept upstairs and peeked around the corner.

There was a thrush of soldiers running toward me. I pressed myself into a recess in the wall and they rushed right past me, undistracted.

I darted into the open hallway and into the room immediately across me—it was the guardroom. Spare swords, bows, and arrows, as well as maces and hundreds more of other weapons lay neatly organized. I restocked my arrows, and grabbed a small knife and a bigger bow.

I glanced around. There was a thin, long satchel and I yanked it away, revealing Eragon's sword—no, my father's sword. I grabbed it as well as an elegant sheathless sword laying next to it.

All but the swords, I stowed away in my pouch, and I stole downstairs, back into the banquet room.

Eragon whipped around when I came in, his hand clenched a roll that was halfway to his mouth. I tossed him Zar'roc.

"I found the other sword and bow in the guardroom. I've never seen weapons like them before, so I assume they were the elf's."

"Let's find out," said Eragon through a mouthful of bread.

The sword—slim and light with a curved crossguard, the ends of which narrowed into sharp points—fit the elf's sheath perfectly. Then the bow, so much more slender than my own brazen weapon was surely hers as well.

"What now?" he asked, as I joined him, cramming food into my mouth. "We can't stay here forever. Sooner or later the soldiers will find us."

"Now, we wait. Like I said, our escape has been arranged. When the guard changes, we can take off."

Eragon paled. "You don't understand; there's a Shade here! If he finds us, we're doomed!"

Fear clenched me, dousing me in an icy cold apprehension. "I entirely forgot of the Shade. Yes, tell Saphira to come immediately. Delaying even that long is too dangerous." I watched him as he paused, speaking to her in his head. "You know, you messed up my plans by escaping yourself," I groused teasingly.

Eragon smiled. "In that case, perhaps I should have waited. Your timing was perfect, though. I wouldn't have been able to even crawl if I had been forced to fight all those soldiers with magic."

"Glad to be of some use," I said curtly. I stiffened as they heard men running past the rooms nearby. nearby. "Let's just hope the Shade doesn't find us."

"I'm afraid it's far too late for that."

I spun around.

The Shade stood alone at the end of the room. In his hand was a pale sword with a thin scratch on the blade. He unclasped the brooch that held his cape in place and let the garment fall to the floor. His body was like a runner's, thin and compact, but the Shade's appearance was deceiving; he would be many times stronger than any human.

"So, my young Rider, do you wish to test yourself against me?" sneered the Shade. "I shouldn't have trusted the Captain when he said you ate all your food. I will not make that mistake again."

"I'll take care of him," I murmured quietly, putting down his bow and drawing the elf's sword.

"No," said Eragon under his breath. "He wants me alive, not you. I can stall him for a short while, but then you'd better have a way out for us."

"Fine, go. You won't have to hold him off for long." I slowly backed away as Eragon drew Zar'roc and slowly advanced.

"I hope not."

_Saphira! NOW!_

Before either of them had moved, the ceiling boomed and shook. Dust billowed from it and turned the air gray while pieces of wood fell around them, shattering on the floor. From the roof came screams and the sound of clashing metal.

Eragon glanced upward, and in that moment, the Shade struck. Eragon lunged, drawing his sword around to block the Shade's blow met with a clang that jarred my teeth. Eragon grasped his sword and swung mightily at the Shade's head. The Shade blocked him with utmost ease, whipping his sword through the air faster than I could ever hope.

Terrible screeches sounded above them, like iron spikes being drawn across rock. Three long cracks split the ceiling. Shingles from the slate roof fell through the fissures. I dragged the elf out from under the table and bade to lean against the wall, ignoring the others.

Watching them, I was horrorstruck. Eragon was a mighty swordsman, but I had never seen any swordsmaster who had so thoroughly outclassed him, and by definition, me. The Shade was merely playing with him, like a cat toying with a mouse. Each successive blow seem more powerful than the last; that, or, Eragon was growing weaker.

I fitted an arrow to my bow, but dare not shoot it lest I hit my accomplice.

Then, with a playful flick of his wrist, the Shade knocked Zar'roc aside. The force of the blow sent Eragon to his knees, where he stayed, kneeling and panting, posed absurdly as if he were praying before some violent, capricious god.

Saphira's keening was louder than ever.

The Shade stared down at him haughtily, tapping his chin with the tip of his sword. "A powerful piece you may be in the game that is being played, but I'm disappointed that this is your best. If the other Riders were this weak, they must have controlled the Empire only through sheer numbers."

Eragon looked up into the terrible cold, white face and shook his head. "No, you forget something."

"And what might that be?" asked the Shade mockingly.

There was a thunderous reverberation as a chunk of the ceiling was torn away to reveal the blinding sky. I grabbed the elf and threw myself out of the way as the ceiling fell through.

"The DRAGONS!" roared Eragon over the noise.

He threw himself out of reach. The Shade snarled in rage, swinging his sword viciously, twisting toward him. He lunged and surprise spread across his face as my arrow found mark on his shoulder.

He laughed and snapped the arrow shaft off with two fingers, sneering at me. "You'll have to do better than that if you want to stop me—"

I let another arrow fly and it caught him between the eyes.

_Bullseye._

The Shade howled with agony and writhed, covering his face. His skin turned gray. Mist formed in the air around him, obscuring his figure, vaporizing him. There was a shattering cry; then the cloud vanished. Where the Shade had been, nothing was left but his cape and a pile of clothes.

"You killed him!" exclaimed Eragon.

I wasn't so sure. That had been far too easy.

A man shouted, "That's it. He failed. Go in and get them!" Soldiers with nets and spears poured into the banquet room from both ends, forming a menacing half-circle.

Dragging the elf with me, I backed up against the wall, Eragon following.

Then Saphira stuck her head through the hole in the ceiling and roared. She gripped the edge of the opening with her powerful talons and ripped off another large section of the ceiling. With a resounding report, the center beam of the ceiling cracked and rained down heavy shingles.

Confusion scattered the ranks as they tried to dodge the deadly barrage.

Saphira roared again, and the soldiers fled, some getting crushed on the way. With a final titanic effort, she tore off the rest of the ceiling before jumping into the banquet hall with her wings folded, splintering the table with a sharp crunch.

Crying out with relief, Eragon threw his arms around her. She purred contentedly.

After their short reunion, I helped Eragon drag the elf over to Saphira and secure her into a saddle. Then, we both climbed onto her, sandwiched the elf between us for security.

Without warning, Saphira leapt out of the banquet hall and onto the fortress's roof where the bodies of watchmen lay scattered, sending my stomach plummeting in shock.

"Look out!" I called out an alarm.

A row of archers filed out of a tower on the other side of the roofless hall.

"Saphira, you must take off. _Now!"_ warned Eragon.

She unfurled her wings, ran toward the edge of the building, and propelled them over it with her powerful legs. The additional weight on her back made her drop alarmingly. As she struggled to gain altitude, I heard the musical twang of bowstrings being released.

Saphira roared with pain as she was struck and quickly rolled to the left to avoid the next volley. More arrows perforated the sky, but the as she quickly gained altitude, they fell short and harmlessly.

Eragon bent over her side, searching for her wound.

I glanced behind us, watching the destroyed citadel grow smaller and smaller as we skimmed over Gil'ead, and soared up into the sun.

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><p><strong><em>As always, REVIEWS make the world go round, my world anyway.<br>_**


	10. Chapter 9, Arya

_**The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN.**_

_OMG you guys, I am so excited! The time of Eragon and Murtagh draws to a close within the next few chapters! This is so exciting! I can actually tell Murtagh's story with due diligence. But I'm also kind of scared because there's barely a bony structure and I could totally mess this up...__Ah, the hell with it—on we go!_

_Note1: I was rereading the last chapter and I realized the beggar sounds like more like a pirate than someone from of ye old English. Haha, sorry about that._

_Note2: I have a job for you guys (aside from reviewing, of course) __I'm pondering how I want to characterize the whole Murtagh-Nasuada relationship. I know my story is rated M, but I didn't have any intention of putting any explicit sexual content in it. I mean, I know that _can_ be done tastefully…but I, personally, would feel like some creep playing _Evony_. The M-rating was mostly me being apprehensive about any extremely blood/gory scenes esp. the torture scenes that are in the last book. __But ANYWHO, my question to you is tell me how you imagine Murtagh and Nasuada, in an ideal situation. Give me some food for thought._

_Also, I apologize in advance for this chapter. I really tried my best, but there really wasn't much to work with; but to make up for that I made it extra long! (partly because there's not much action in the beginning and partly because I'm trying to up my writing proliferation) though I think there is some interesting foreshadowing here ;) And we see Murtagh's softer side :)_

_xoxo —ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 9, Arya<em>

Only half a league from Gil'ead, still well within eyeshot, we began losing altitude. Saphira drifted down to a clearing, landed on the crest of a hill. She extended her wings and rested them on the ground. She was shaking tremulously, jolting all of her riders so that our weapons were sent flying when she landed with a tremendous _thud_.

Snowfire and Tornac, still picketed where I had left them, snorted nervously as the she landed.

Eragon jumped to the ground and immediately went to Saphira to gauge the lengths of her wounds, leaving me to the elf. I scrutinized her seemingly lifeless body as I dripped a water-soaked rag over her parted lips.

"Murtagh!" Eragon called softly. "Come help me."

I went over to him, and peered carefully where he was indicating. I found an arrow embedded in one of the large muscles of Saphira's flying arm. The arrowhead poked through its underside. Warm blood dripped off it.

"Hold her wing down." Eragon instructed. "I have to remove this arrow."

I gripped the top of her wing, carefully not to nudge her arm and agitate her. Readying herself for the pain, she stretched out her neck and grabbed a thick sapling between her teeth.

"Hold on," Eragon told me. And he broke off the head of the arrow and swiftly pulled the shaft out of her arm.

With a yank of her head, she pulled the tree out of the ground, clamping it firmly in her jaws. Her wing jerked involuntarily, clipping me in the chest, knocking me to the ground. She shook the tree, spraying us with loam.

After topically healing her wounds, Eragon checked on the unconscious elf.

I untied our steeds and readied them for travel, packing concisely and discarded anything that was not of utmost necessity.

I found myself a little rueful. I had enjoyed my stint of sociability, a reprieve from an inevitable lifetime of damned solitude—though I did not enjoy deceiving him, I could not stand the gratitude in his eyes for me turn to prejudice.

Saphira took flight and we began to ride at a fast clip. Behind us, we could see the fires of the Empire's soldiers as they searched the outskirts of Gil'ead. We traveled on through the night, not stopping even when our strength flagged and our eyes burned in the wind.

I wondered what went in Eragon's mind though I could guess.

He was besotted with his elf and would stop at nothing to save her. _But what would that take?_ Forays into another city for medicines? We didn't even know what plagued her. _And what of his venture to the Varden?_ He had seemingly forgotten, but he would soon have nowhere else to go. Was our time together coming to an end?

Not again.

-x-

As the morning star rose, Eragon slowed. "We have to make camp," he said wearily. "I must sleep—whether they catch us or not."

We met Saphira at the base of a small cliff where we found her drinking from a small stream. She trumpeted softly as we approached. I dragged the elf from the makeshift saddle onto a blanket stretched taut on the ground, sagging to the ground beside her, exhausted.

Eragon knelt over her, examining her thoroughly. "How did the King capture an elf?"

"As far as I know, she's the first elf the king has captured." My tired voice sounded raw. "Ever since they went into hiding, he's been looking for them without success—until now. So he's either found their sanctuary, or she was captured by chance."

Eragon blanched.

"It is more likely by chance." I assured him. "If he had found Ellesméra, he would have declared a war and sent his army after the elves. We would know. So the real question is were his men able to extract the elves' location before we rescued her?"

"We won't know until she regains consciousness. Tell me what happened after I was captured. How did I end up in Gil'ead?"

I relayed the story quickly.

"So the Urgals are working for the Empire," Eragon said thoughtfully. "And the Shade as well…but then, why haven't the people of the Empire rebelled?"

I opened one eye and eyed him pityingly. "Most never hear of the destruction in Cantos or Yazuac. Even if they heard of these outrages, few would make it to the Varden. With the Urgals under his command, the king has enough warriors to close the Empire's borders and remain in control."

"But if they rebelled together…" Eragon protested.

I shook my head. "No matter how disruptive people are, with such a rule of terror, he will be able to shape the Empire however he wants. And though he is hated, people could be galvanized into joining him if they had a common enemy."

"Who would that be?" asked Eragon, confused.

"The elves? The Varden? With the right rumors they can be portrayed as the most despicable monsters in Alagaësia—fiends waiting to seize your land and wealth. He might even say Urgals have been misunderstood all this time and that they are really friends and allies against such terrible enemies. I only wonder what he promised them in return for their services."

"No one could be deceived that easily about Galbatorix and the Urgals." Eragon looked beside himself with outrage. "Besides, why would he want to do that? He's already in power."

"His authority is challenged by the Varden, with whom the people sympathize. And there is also Surda, which has defied him since it seceded from the Empire. Galbatorix is strong within the Empire, but his arm is weak outside of it. As for his subjects, they'll believe whatever he wants them to. It's happened before."

_To me._

My words seemed to weigh down Eragon and Saphira more than the day's weariness, for they sat in tense silence.

Suddenly he looked up at me and said earnestly. "You risked your life to rescue me; I owe you for that. I couldn't have escaped on my own." My entire face seemed unbearably hot in the cold night air and I rubbed my necked distractedly. "How did you manage to get into the castle?" He asked curiously.

I snorted derisively. "By paying a steep bribe and crawling up a filthy coal chute. But without Saphira, all would have been lost. Thank you." I looked her directly in her shimmering blue eyes and she hummed contently.

The air between Eragon and I had changed. This was twice I had saved him, not that I was keeping score. And yet, I did not feel burdened by him. Remarkably, I felt more akin to him than ever. We had been aligned by a common enemy, similar interests. But where Tornac had been more of a father to me, Eragon was rather like a brother.

Coincidentally, he even looked something like me.

Eragon knelt forward and examined the elf. As he shifted, he nudged her arm. My eyes were drifting closed already so it was several seconds before my mind realized what it was seeing. Eragon, too, froze as his mind registered his sight.

The elf's arm was mottled with a layer of bruises and cuts; some were half healed, while others were fresh and oozing a thin light pink fluid.

With trembling fingers, Eragon unlaced the back of the elf's tunic. As the leather slipped off, I swore.

Her back was muscled, but it was covered with scabs that made her skin look like dry, cracked mud. She had been whipped mercilessly and branded with hot irons in the shape of claws. Where her skin was still intact, it was purple and black from numerous beatings. On her left shoulder was a strange tattoo inscribed with indigo ink.

"Can you heal this?" I asked in a hushed voice.

"I-I don't know." He looked sickened. "There's so much. This is going to take some time. Can you get me food? Also, boil rags for bandages; I can't heal all her wounds."

I shook my head, looking off into the distance where tiny pinpricks of light in the receding darkness indicated the ongoing search for us. "We can't make a fire without being seen. You'll have to use unwashed cloths, and the food will be cold."

I fetched him provisions and clothes.

"_Waíse heill_!" He whispered over and over, his gedwëy ignasia sparkling in the light of the morning star. The elf's skin rippled as though I were looking at it under water and new skin flowed over the damages.

He sat, hunched over her, for hours.

At some point during the morning, I fell asleep, propped upright next to him. Later, sensing his movements, I jerked awake. "Is it done?"

He nodded weakly, his face pale and wan.

"Will she live?"

"I don't know," he mumbled. "Elves are strong, but even they cannot endure abuse like this with impunity. If I knew more about healing, but..." He gestured helplessly.

He rose and went to the wineskin in his saddlebag, but his hand was shaking so badly he spilled most of the wine. "We'd better start riding again." He was a walking corpse.

"No, you must sleep." I insisted.

"I can sleep in the saddle." Eragon stifled a yawn. "But we can't afford to stay here, not with the soldiers closing in on us."

He was right. We had a lead, but it was small and it was imperative to our lives that we keep it. I took Snowfire's reins and lead him as Eragon slumbered.

I gazed at him pityingly as he slept.

A terrible sadness rose up in me. I had never wasted my sympathies on others, for who had suffered a life as troubled as mine? And yet, here was Eragon, tossed into the rivalries of a war decades old, doomed to a life as turbulent as mine.

We were not so different.

He looked so small in sleep. He was no more than a child, really.

-x-

Eragon slept through most of the day, waking only when we stopped for the night. The lack of sleep was draining on all of us, though Eragon had an especially sour look on his face when Saphira landed.

Throughout the day, I had charted the soldiers' progress. They were gaining on us, and new soldiers were stationed at every fallen tree and fork in the path, slowing us down immensely.

We ate our meal in silence; matters seemed to be weighing on everyone's mind.

I slept what seemed like minutes. It was still very dark when Eragon shook me awake and I reluctantly readied my horse. "We can't keep up this pace," I groused groggily. "We aren't making any progress. Another day and they will surely overtake us."

"What choice do we have?" Eragon snapped. "Were it only the two of us and we left the horses, we might fly out of here on Saphira. But with the elf, too? Impossible."

He was right. I was a liability.

"Perhaps, we ought to go our ways, Eragon. I did not endanger myself to save you only to have you die on my account. I can't expect you and Saphira to stay and risk imprisonment."

Eragon's eyes flashed. "You insult us. The only reason I'm free is because of you. I'm not going to abandon you to the Empire. Poor thanks that would be!"

I was heartened, yet I frowned. "Your words warm me, but we are still in a quandary."

He gestured at the elf. "I wish she could tell us where the elves are; perhaps we could seek sanctuary with them."

"Considering how they've protected themselves, I doubt she'd reveal their location. Why would they want to shelter us anyway? The last Riders they had contact with were Galbatorix and the Forsworn who undoubtedly them with memories less than pleasant." I frowned. "And I don't even have the dubious honor of being a Rider like you," I added.

Eragon shrugged. "We must flee, but in which direction—north, south, east, or west?"

"We must leave the Empire." I said, considering his words. "Few safe places within it are safe and all are far from here and thus difficult to reach without being caught or followed. To the north is the forest, Du Weldenvarden—which we might be able to hide in, but I don't relish going back past Gil'ead. Only the Empire and the sea lie to the west. Surda in the south is a possibility and may lead you to the Varden. And the Hadarac Desert is in the east." I sighed. "Each seems bleaker than the next."

"It's too dangerous to go to Surda. We would have to traverse most of the Empire, avoiding every town and village. There are too many people between us and Surda to get there unnoticed."

Which meant…

"You want to go across the desert?"

Eragon looked defensive. "I don't see any other options. With their flying steeds, the Ra'zac will probably arrive in Gil'ead in a couple of days, so we don't have much time. And it'll at least lead us from the Empire."

"Even if we do reach the desert before they get here they could still overtake us. It'll be hard to outdistance them at all. Though to catch us, they'll have to leave the soldiers behind, which is to our advantage. If it comes to a fight, I think the three of us can defeat them."

Eragon looked heartened.

"But, _if_ we reach the other side of the Hadarac safely, where from there will we go? Those lands are well outside of the Empire. There will be few cities, if any. And then there is the desert itself. What do you know of it?"

"Only that it's hot, dry, and full of sand," Eragon confessed.

"That about sums it up," I said sourly. "What it lacks in shade and water, it makes up for in searing heat and sweltering sunshine. It hosts poisonous and inedible plants, venomous snakes, scorpions, and no end of scoundrels. You remember the Great Plain we passed en route to Gil'ead?"

Eragon nodded.

"Then you are familiar with its immense range. It fills the heart of the Empire. Now imagine something two or three times its size, and you'll understand the vastness of the Hadarac Desert. That is what you're proposing to cross."

Eragon blinked in surprise. His brow furrowed as he tried to picture what I was describing to him. Finally, I scratched a picture in the dirt with an arrowhead.

He exclaimed. "No wonder the Empire ends at the desert. Everything past it is too far away for Galbatorix to control."

I gestured to my crude map. "All the land beyond the desert was under one rule when the Riders lived. If the king were to raise up new order of Riders under his command, it would allow him to expand the Empire to an unprecedented size. But that wasn't the point I was trying to make. The Hadarac Desert is so huge and contains so many dangers, the chances are slim that we can cross it unscathed. It is a desperate path to take."

"We are desperate," said Eragon firmly. He studied the map carefully. "If we rode through the belly of the desert, it would take well over a month, but if we angle southeast, toward the Beor Mountains, we could cut through much faster, roughly equal to what we covered on our way to Gil'ead."

"But that took us nearly a month!"

Eragon shook his head impatiently at my dismay. "Our ride to Gil'ead was slow on account of my injuries. If we press ourselves, it'll take only a fraction of that time to reach the Beor Mountains."

"Fair enough. But, you have overlooked one key point. As I'm sure you noticed, I bought supplies for us and the horses while I was in Gil'ead. But how can we get enough water? The roving tribes who live in the Hadarac disguise their wells and oases so no one can steal their water. Carrying enough for more than a day is impractical. Just think about how much Saphira drinks! She and the horses consume more water at one time than we do in a week. Unless you can make it rain whenever we need, I don't see how we can go the desert."

Eragon pursed his lips. He rocked back and forth on his heels and suddenly leapt up, stalking into the darkness purposefully.

I stared after him, surprised his sudden departure.

What was I doing? Following this Rider after I had expressly decided not to involve myself politics again. If I continued to stay beside Eragon, my name would surely get back to the King. No matter, the wilderness beyond the desert was impenetrable; I could wait a while longer for my solitude.

Eragon returned after an hour, his face tired but triumphant.

"Well?" I prompted him.

"We will have water." Eragon looked squarely at me, his eyes glinting in the light. "Then, shall we go?"

I glanced back, the way we had come where smoke from soldier encampments was clearly visible in the pre-dawn light, smiling mischievously.

"Let's. I always did like races."

Eragon laughed harshly. "And now, we are in one for our lives."

And we galloped on into the gloom.

-x-

We drove the horses as hard as we could without killing them, sometimes dismounting and running on foot to give them a respite.

The soldiers in Gil'ead were far behind, but new soldiers plagued us with every passing town. Somehow the alarm had been sent ahead of us. Twice we were nearly ambushed along the trail, escaping only because Saphira happened to smell the men ahead of them.

After the second incident, we avoided the trail entirely.

When we reached Bullridge, we led the horses on foot around it by a wide margin, listening attentively still to avoid any hidden camps. When we were past it, it was almost daybreak, and we all breathed more easily.

We had covered over forty leagues in three days.

When the sun rose again, we had reached the edge of a steep bank covered with mounds of brush. Water roared below as it tore over boulders. The bank came to an abrupt end where the river ran dark and swift. White mist wafted up from the water.

The Ramr.

The river was to the left, but also five miles to the right. The river continued south for several leagues, then doubled back on itself in a narrow loop before curving west.

"We have to find a place to ford safely," I called over the thundering water.

I tossed a broken branch into the currents and watching it being carried away by the furious torrents, bobbing on the rough water. It was impossible to see the far side.

"How deep do you think it is?" asked Eragon, sounding a little unnerved.

"I can't tell. Can you see how far across it is with magic?"

Eragon shook his head. "I don't think so, not without lighting up this place like a beacon."

With a gust of air, Saphira took off and soared over the Ramr.

After a few minutes, Eragon replied. "She's on the other side. But the river is over a half mile wide. It bends here and in widest. She is offering to ferry us all over one by one."

"A half mile!" I exclaimed. "I don't think we ought to try it, for the horses' sake. Ask if there is a shallower place nearby where we could cross."

Eragon relayed the message. Soon thereafter, Saphira landed besides us once more and he told me, "There is no place near to ford. The water is both deep and strong, upstream as well as downstream. She will have to carry us over one by one."

I shook my head. "Then I had better go over first, so I can watch the horses." I scrambled onto Saphira's saddle. "Be careful with Tornac." I told him, worry coloring my voice. "I've had him for many years. I don't want anything to happen to him."

She took off so swiftly she nearly unseated me.

_Murtagh._

I started. It was so rare that she chose to speak to me directly, and not through Eragon's buffer, that when I felt her presence nudging my mind, I instinctively tried to attack, just as I had the first time.

_Stop your histrionics. It is I, Saphira._

I relaxes my offenses. _What is it you want?_

_I have noticed, being alongside you for these last few months, something very peculiar. I find that in spite of your differences to Eragon, you still show the same magnetism that I sensed in Eragon for which I chose him._

_Magnetism?_

_You come from a long line of old magic and Dragon Riders. I would not be surprised if you found yourself on top of a Dragon one day._

It must have been my father's blood in my veins that she was sensing. I flushed guiltily. No doubt she would not say this if she knew who my father was. How_ can you know this?_

_I may be younger than you in years, but I am ancient in my thoughts. Look at the way you ride atop me, so viscerally. Eragon, even, did not know how to ride me at first._

_But what does this mean?_

_Do not worry about these things. Find peace in where and what you are now. Things have a way of turning out for the best. Let events unfold as they may._

She had landed on the far side of the Ramr and I slid off of Saphira, more than a trifle confused. She blinked impassively and took flight again. She did not attempt to speak any more to me.

When everyone and both the horses had been ferried across, we continued riding, with the Ramr to our backs. The air filled with the calls of birds waking to a new day. Eventually the ground became soft and gave way to sand.

When the sun was high overhead, the Ramr River was no more than a fuzzy line behind us.

We had reached the Hadarac desert.

-x-

A vast expanse of dunes spread to the horizon like ripples on an ocean. Bursts of wind twirled the reddish gold sand into the air. Scraggly trees grew on scattered patches of solid ground—ground any farmer would have declared unfit for crops. Rising in the distance was a line of purple crags. The imposing desolation was barren of any animals except for a bird gliding on the zephyrs.

The hot, dry air stung my throat.

"You're sure we'll find food for the horses out there?"

"See those?" I indicated the crags. "Grass grows around them. It's short and tough, but the horses will find it sufficient."

"I hope you're right," said Eragon, squinting at the sun. "Before we continue, let's rest. My mind is slow as a snail, and I can barely move my legs."

We took a reprieve in the shadow of a dune, at ease. It was now four days since leaving Gil'ead. We had already covered thirty-five leagues, a monstrous feat; and still, we slept just long enough to clear our heads and rest the horses.

Galbatorix would not give up so easily.

As for me, my contentment at our narrow escape had faded with the sweltering heat, and I was critically reconsidering our plan onward. Eragon had foolishly chosen this path. Who knew what, if anything lay beyond the desert.

_We may as well start digging our graves here in the sand._

I was angry, mostly at myself, for remaining with him. I should departed for the Spine for the life of solitude I had planned for. Nowhere Eragon was going would be ever be solitary. And yet, I had not been able to bring myself to leave.

It would have meant certain death for him and a lifetime of guilt for me.

We stopped when we arrived at the crags we had seen from a distance that morning. The picketed horses nibbled on the sparse grass. I started a small fire and shook the sand from my clothes, wincing at the tenderness of my sunburned skin.

Eragon looked back the way we came. "How far do you think we went?"

"I don't know," I snapped, incensed by every discomfort I had suffered today. "We don't have enough water. And the horses have to drink." He did not goad me and the release I craved from my anger was not granted.

Saphira dug a hole for with her claws, as wide across as a full grown man. Eragon knelt at its knelt and closed his eyes.

Slowly, the earth darkened and finally a trickle of water sprang from it. Slowly, the stream widened and sluiced the hole.

I refilled the waterskins and stood aside as the horses drank. The thirsty animals quaffed gallons. Saphira, too, drank several draughts, and finally Eragon drank and he let the water seep back into the parched ground.

It was freezing when we decamped the next day. The sand had a pink hue in the morning light, and the sky was hazy, concealing the horizon. My mood had not improved with sleep, and Eragon's was rapidly deteriorating.

We spoke tersely to each other.

I kept running over in my mind what I could do when I reached the edge of the desert. _Where should I go? _I could not follow Eragon forever. What if there was nothing there? _What if—_

"Murtagh!" Eragon called excitedly, shaking me from my stupor. "Look!"

He was pointed toward the haze that we had woken to this morning. It had thinned since then and the distant purple-blue smudges had gained definition. They were broad, forest-covered mounds with clear outlines. The air above them was pale white, bleached of its usual hue—all color seemed to have been leached out of a horizontal band of sky that lay on top of the hills and extended to the horizon's edges. Indeed, the whiteness blanketed half the sky before us.

I stared, puzzled, unable to understand the strange congruity. "What? I don't see—"

What I had taken to be several hills were actually the bases of gigantic mountains, scores of miles wide. Except for the dense forest along their lower regions, the mountains were entirely covered with snow and ice. It was this that had deceived me to be the sky. I arched my head back, but the peaks were not visible.

"But that's impossible!" I spluttered, squinting and blinking to test my vision. "I knew the Beor Mountains were large, but not that monstrous size!"

"Let's hope the animals that live there aren't in proportion to the mountains," said Eragon lightly.

My spirits lifted. "It will be good to find some shade and spend a few weeks in leisure. I've had enough of this forced march."

"I grow weary as well," Eragon admitted, "but I don't want to stop until the elf is cured…or she dies. Maybe…When we reach the mountains, I could take her to Surda— it's not that far. There must be a healer there who can help her."

But as the day wore on, the Beor Mountains seemed to get no closer, though the landscape changed dramatically. The sand slowly transformed from loose grains of reddish hue to hard-packed, dusky-cream dirt. In place of dunes were ragged patches of plants and deep furrows in the ground where flooding had occurred. A cool breeze wafted through the air, bringing welcome refreshment.

The horses sensed the change of climate and hurried forward eagerly.

-x-

We had covered eighty leagues in five days.

We sat, fatigued and haggard, around a fire that night, triumphant.

Finally, I was outside of the Empire. It was a strange thought. I had been born in the Empire, lived my entire live a stone's throw from Galbatorix's clutches, lost the closest thing I ever had to a father to him, and had nearly died several times since then.

And now, I was free.

Finally, I was free.

I felt jubilant and I whooped, jumping in my ecstasy like a wild animal. I no longer had to worry if my visage would be recognized if I walked into a tavern, or what unspeakable horrors Galbatorix would have me commit if he caught me.

_Free._

Several feet away, where the elf lay, Eragon gasped very loudly, like a fish out of water.

"Eragon?"

He did not answer.

I rushed over to his side.

He was kneeling in front of the elf, eyes closed—he might have been praying—but his face was twisted in a painful grimace and his body trembled. All at once, his eyes opened but the pupils rolled back in his head so that he gazed upon me as if he were blind, blinking rapidly. His hands trembled and his brow furrowed.

"Eragon!" I said quite loudly.

Saphira shuffled closer to us.

I shook his shoulders forcefully, but he did not snap out of his trance. I shook him insistently, yelling and speaking plainly and finally Eragon took a shuddering breath and forced his eyes open.

"Are you alright? You been kneeling here for almost fifteen minutes. I thought you were having a fit."

"I have?" He blinked owlishly. "I talked with Arya, the elf. That's her name. She's been poisoned by a venom, the Skilna Bragh. The antidote lies with the Varden and she's given me instructions to find them. But she only has a few days left. We must hurry."

"How far away are the Varden?" I asked cautiously.

Eragon frowned. "I'm not exactly sure," he confessed. "But from what she showed me, I think it's even farther than from here to Gil'ead."

"And we're supposed to cover that in three or four days?" I exploded. "It took us five days to get here! What do you want to do, kill the horses? They're exhausted as it is."

"But if we do nothing, she'll die! If it's too much for the horses, Saphira can fly ahead with Arya and me; at least we would get to the Varden in time. You could catch up with us in a few days."

"Of course," I sneered. "Murtagh, the pack animal. Murtagh, the horse leader. I should have remembered that's all I'm good for nowadays. Let's not forget, every soldier in the Empire is searching for me now because you couldn't defend yourself, and I had to save you, but, I suppose I'll just follow your feeble instructions and bring up the horses in the rear like a good servant."

"What's wrong with you? I'm grateful for what you did. There's no reason to be angry with me! I didn't ask you to accompany me or to rescue me from Gil'ead. You chose that. I haven't forced you to do anything." Eragon snapped angrily.

"Not outright, no. What else could I do but help you with the Ra'zac? And then later, at Gil'ead, how could I have left with a clear conscience?" I roared. "The problem with you is that you're so totally helpless you force everyone to take care of you!"

I shoved him backward.

"Don't touch me," he snarled.

I laughed contemptuously. "Or, what?"

But he ran at me and struck me in the stomach. The air whooshed out of my in a rush and collapsed in place, swearing breathlessly. I glanced up, glowering at him, and launched myself at him, pounding on him.

He threw me off of himself and we both flew at each other again, tempers ignited—

Saphira's tail slapped between us, accompanied by a deafening roar. I ignored her and tried to hoist myself over her tail, but she grabbed me in an enormous paw and wrestled me to the ground. From the noise and protestations on her other side, I could hear her similarly restraining Eragon. She turned away from Eragon and eyed me severely.

"She wants me to ask you what's really the problem," Eragon called, his voice ridiculing. "She won't let us up otherwise. Saphira growled an affirmative and continued to stare at me piercingly.

I waited until my breathing was even though my anger had not at all dissipated. "I told you before: I don't want to go to the Varden."

"Don't want to…or can't?"

I tried to shove Saphira's leg off me, but she pressed down harder and I swore and relented, "Don't want to! They'll expect things from me that I can't deliver."

"Did you steal something from them?"

"I wish it were that simple."

"Well, what is it, then? Did you kill someone important or bed the wrong woman?"

"I was born," I said darkly.

Saphira released her paws.

Eragon got up, watching me with a mixture of curiosity and irritation on his face. "What does that mean? You're avoiding the question." He dabbed at his split lip.

"So what?" I snarled. "It doesn't matter why I'm in this predicament, but I can tell you that the Varden wouldn't welcome me even if I came bearing the king's head. They might greet me nicely enough, but trust me? Never. And if I were to arrive under a less fortuitous circumstance, like the present, they'd likely clap me in irons."

"Why won't you tell me what this is about?" Eragon asked. "I've done things I'm not proud of, too, so it's not as if I'm going to pass judgment."

I did not look at him, hating him in that moment. Because, if he really knew, he would not; but he would never really know. No one ever bothered to learn. And yet, he had shown me utmost kindness and trust so far. Perhaps, after all I had done for him, he would not judge. _He may not be like all the others._

"I haven't done anything to deserve this treatment, though it would have been easier to atone for if I had. My mistake is deigning to exist in the first place." I took a deep breath. "You see, my father—"

Saphira hissed.

We followed her gaze westward.

Eragon paled. "Urgals."

Never the huntsman, always the hunted. It appeared my fate would never change, no matter how far and long I ran.

Eragon leapt into the action behind, untying the horses and pulling Arya into Saphira's saddle, gathering all our supplies and throwing them into our saddlebags. He was a blur of action, like a cyclone, yet leaving order instead of destruction behind.

My heart was racing as fear clenched me in her familiar, cold embrace. I stood to glean a better look, hoping to the gods he was wrong.

He was.

"No," I said in a hushed voice. "Kull."

-x-

In the cool morning air, yesterday's fight had been all but forgotten, though we remained terse and rather short when speaking to each other.

When we stopped at midday for the animals, I did not seek him out, but rather hiked up a small mound to survey our surrounding.

The band of Kull had receded by several leagues to a small black blur in the distance. To the north, the Beor Mountain range stood just as majestic and insurmountable. Everywhere else, seemed deserted by human touch.

I glanced around at the nearby hills—_There, what was that?_—I scrutinized the hill nearest to us, something was rising up onto it. The first figure, a man on a horse, galloped forward. They had not seen us yet, but any moment…

I unsheathed my sword with a steely rasp that alerted Eragon. He joined me at the top of the mound.

Behind the frontman riding atop a sorrel horse, a group of horseman had arrived. No one moved. They had finally caught sight of us.

"Could they be Varden?"

Eragon surreptitiously strung his bow. "According to Arya, they're still scores of leagues away. Though this might be one of their patrols or raiding groups."

"Assuming they're not bandits." I hurried back down to Tornac and swung onto him, readying Snowfire for Eragon.

"Should we try to outrun them?" Eragon lingered to drape a blanket over Arya, before grasping her firmly to him.

"It wouldn't do any good. Tornac and Snowfire are fine war-horses, but they're tired, and they aren't sprinters. Look at the horses those men have; they're meant for running. They would catch us before we had gone a half-mile."

The band of men watched us from the hill.

I tightened my grip on my sword. "Tell Saphira to come."

"If they threaten us, I can frighten them away with magic. If that doesn't work, there's Saphira. I wonder how they'd react to a Rider? So many stories have been told about their powers. It might be enough to avoid a fight."

"Don't count on it," I said grimly. "If there's a fight, we'll just have to kill enough of them to convince them we're not worth the effort. And I welcome it." I bared at my teeth.

The man on the sorrel horse signaled with his mace, sending the horsemen cantering toward them. The men shook javelins over their heads, whooping loudly as they neared. Battered sheaths hung from their sides. Their weapons were rusty and stained. Four of them trained arrows on our procession. Their leader swirled the mace in the air, and his men responded with yells as they circled us like vultures.

"Well, these are better than the usual dregs we find! At least we got healthy ones this time. And we didn't even have to shoot them. Grieg will be pleased."

The men chuckled.

My heart sank. This did not bode well.

"Now as for you two," said the leader, speaking to us, "If you would be so good as to drop your weapons, you'll avoid being turned into living quivers by my men."

The men jeered again.

"Who are you and what do you want? We are free men traveling through this land. You have no right to stop us."

"Oh, I have every right," said the man contemptuously. "And as for my name, slaves do not address their masters in that manner, unless they want to be beaten." The lines deepened on the leader's face. "Throw down your swords and surrender!"

Neither Eragon nor I lowered our tensed weapons.

The slavers tensed, staring at us with cold, calculating eyes.

Behind us, one of the slavers had pulled the blanket off Arya, revealing her face. He gaped in astonishment, then shouted, "Torkenbrand, this one's an elf!"

The men stirred with surprise while the leader spurred his horse over to Snowfire. He looked down at Arya and whistled.

"Well, 'ow much is she worth?" someone asked.

Torkenbrand was quiet for a moment, then spread his hands and said, "At the very least? Fortunes upon fortunes. The Empire will pay a mountain of gold for her!"

The slavers yelled with excitement and pounded each other on the back.

Eragon caught my eye and directed my gaze upward. A shadow was beginning to appear on the ground and I could see a faint outline of Saphira as she came plummeting down from the haze of the sky toward us.

I jerked toward the man nearest me, smashing my elbow into his face, knocking him out of the saddle. I spurred Tornac and drew my sword. He reared above the fallen slaver and the man screamed.

Before the others could react, Eragon leapt forward on his horse, shouting. A globule of indigo fire struck the ground in the midst of the fray, bursting into a fountain of molten drops that dissipated like sun-warmed dew.

A second later, Saphira dropped from the sky and landed next to him. She parted her jaws, displaying her massive fangs, and bellowed.

"BEHOLD!" cried Eragon over the fray, "I am a Rider!" He raised Zar'roc over his head, the red blade dazzling in the sunlight, then pointed it at the slavers. "Flee if you wish to live!"

The men shouted incoherently and scrambled over each other in their haste to escape. In the confusion, Torkenbrand was struck in the temple with a javelin. He tumbled to the ground, stunned. The men ignored their fallen leader and raced away in a ragged mass. Torkenbrand struggled to his knees. Blood ran from his temple, branching across his cheek with crimson tendrils.

I jumped off Tornac and strode over to him, quickly, my sword aloft.

He raised his arms, as though to fend off my sword for the blow he knew was coming. But I did not slow. I smiled coldly at him and swung my sword—

"NO!"

Torkenbrand's decapitated trunk crumpled to the ground in a puff of dirt. His head landed with a _thump_.

"Is your brain rotten?" Eragon bellowed. "Why did you kill him?"

I knelt by his corpse, wiping my bloodied sword on the back of his jerkin. "I don't see why you're so upset—" I said mildly.

"_Upset?_" exploded Eragon. "I'm well past that! Did it even occur to you that we could have left him here and continue on our way? No! Instead you turn into an executioner and chop off his head. He was defenseless!"

Saphira sniffed Torkenbrand's head curiously. She opened her mouth slightly, as if to snap it up, then appeared to decide better of it and prowled to Eragon's side.

I fought to keep from smiling.

"Well, we couldn't keep him around. He _was_ dangerous. The others ran off so without a horse he wouldn't have made it far. If the Urgals caught up with him, they might learn of Arya—"

He brushed aside my explanations. "But to kill him?" interrupted Eragon.

"No stranger's life is more important than my own." I said simply.

"But you can't indulge in wanton violence. Where is your empathy?" growled Eragon, pointing at the head.

"Empathy? _Empathy?_" I yelled angrily. "What empathy can I afford my enemies? Shall I dither about whether to defend myself because it will cause someone pain? If that had been the case, I would have died years ago! You must be willing to protect yourself and what you cherish, no matter what the cost!"

Eragon slammed Zar'roc back into its sheath, shaking his head sagely. "You can justify any atrocity with that reasoning."

"Do you think I enjoy this, Eragon?" I snarled. "My life has been threatened from the day I was born! All of my waking hours have been spent avoiding danger in one form or another. And sleep never comes easily because I always worry if I will even live to see the dawn. If there ever was a time I felt secure, it must have been in my mother's womb, though I wasn't safe even there! You don't understand—if you lived with this fear, you would have learned the same lesson I did: _do not take chances_."

My chest heaved as I finished my rant and Eragon stood, transformed by the changes he finally saw in me. He had underestimated me. He thought me, perhaps, a good fighter, an enjoyable companion, a friend even. But the darker side of me that constantly lurked underneath the surface had finally emerged and he did not like it.

Hardly a surprise, few did. Galbatorix was probably the only who would have enjoyed appropriating it to serve his ends.

"It was still the wrong thing to do." His eyes refused to meet mine.

_And so, it begins._

-x-

In the morning Saphira took off with both Eragon and Arya, leaving me to lead the horses. I did not protest. I was not feeling kindly toward Eragon at the moment.

Who was he to tell me to show empathy? I had never, if I could help it, killed unnecessarily, nor hurt anyone who had not hurt me. Fighting though I excelled at, was my last resort. I preferred to run. Torkenbrand on the other hand, would have had no qualms in killing or selling any of us and I was supposed to feel remorse? For what? Smiting a blight upon humanity?

And was Eragon the one to dole out blame? Eragon, who was outfitted with the life of a prince? Who was handed a dragon and the opportunity many would die for? A bumbling oaf, within whose grasp lay the fate of the free world.

Eragon and Saphira landed after a few hours to inform me that our time was still limited. "The Urgals are overtaking us," he told me grimly.

"How far do we still have to go?" I asked stiffly.

"Normally…I would guess another five days. At the speed we've been traveling, only three. But unless we get there tomorrow, the Urgals will probably catch us, and Arya will certainly die."

"She might last another day." I hedged hesitantly, knowing his answer before the words could leave my lips.

"We can't count on it," Eragon said seriously. "The only way we can get to the Varden in time is if we don't stop for anything, least of all sleep. That's our only chance."

I scoffed. "How can you expect to do that? We've already gone days without adequate sleep. Unless Riders are made of different matters than us mortals, you're as tired as I am. We've covered a staggering distance, and the horses, in case you haven't noticed, are ready to drop. Another day of this might kill us all."

Eragon shrugged. "So be it. We don't have a choice."

I gazed at him half in admiration, half in exasperation. On the one hand, I admired him for risking everything to save the life of this elf; on the other hand, valiance was once thing, foolhardiness was something else entirely.

"I could leave and let you fly ahead with Saphira…That would force the Urgals to divide their troops and would give you a better chance of reaching the Varden."

"It would be suicide."

"It might be the only way."

"No, those Kull are faster on foot than we are on horseback. They would run you down like a deer. The only way to evade them is to find sanctuary with the Varden." He said these carefully as if afraid that I might explode again.

"I'll escape later," I said abruptly. "When we get to the Varden, I can disappear down a side valley and find my way to Surda, where I can hide without attracting too much attention."

"So you're staying?"

I frowned. "Sleep or no sleep, I'll see you to the Varden," I vowed.

And with this new found resolve, we pushed ourselves even harder forward, and surprising ourselves with an energy and determination that I could not have predicted to remain in our weary limbs.

And yet, our pursuers crept slower still. At nightfall the Kull were a third closer than they had been that morning. When the sun returned, we were pleased to see that the Urgals were far behind.

"If we're not reasonably close to the Varden by noon, I'm going to fly ahead with Arya. You'll be free to go wherever you want then, but you'll have to take Snowfire with you. I won't be able to come back for him."

"That might not be necessary; we could still get there in time," I said glumly.

Eragon merely shrugged.

Later, Eragon pointed out a valley to me. The valley was so restricted it could easily be overlooked. This apparently would lead to the Varden.

"If we can slip in there without being seen, it might confuse them." Though skeptical, I followed his lead. "The Varden are hidden at the end of this valley. If we hurry, we might get there before nightfall."

There was now only a league between us and the Urgals.

I surveyed the valley. It had seemed far smaller before we had traversed it, having falling within a moutain's shadow, but now that I was walking through, I could not see any other way out.

When I pointed out my concern to Eragon, he pacified me, "Don't worry about it," he said impatiently. "This is a long valley; there's sure to be an exit further in."

He released Arya from Saphira and lifted the elf onto Snowfire and took off with Saphira.

I now kept my senses careful, cautious, and attuned to anything out of the ordinary, whether it was the Varden, the oncoming Urgals, or some other danger hidden within this vale.

But as we continued riding, I saw no exit. It seemed I was trapped in this earthy gash, though perhaps I could escape to the other side of the mountain once I was rid of the others.

As we were riding Tornac stumbled in a ditch before righting himself. I glanced back to see what had tripped him and quickly spurred him to a stop. There in a damp muddy ground was a paw print. It was a wolf's, but that was not what threw me.

It was as wide across as both my hands and easily an inch thick.

I swallowed nervously, looking around into the leafy gloom.

A few yards away, Eragon and Saphira landed and he called, "The Urgals have entered the valley. I tried to confuse them, but I forgot one of the rules of magic, and it cost me a great deal."

I told them about the wolf tracks. "There are animals around here that could be dangerous even to you, Saphira. I know you can't enter the forest, but could you circle above me and the horses? That should keep these beasts away. Otherwise there may only be enough left of me to roast in a thimble."

"Humor, Murtagh?" asked Eragon, a quick grin coming to his face.

"Only on the gallows." I said with a small smile, my eyes still searching, now adding a giant wolf to my list of worries alongside an escape route.

Eragon saw my eyes roving and he said stolidly, "There'll be one farther in."

I nodded and said brightly, "Of course. Let's go."

"How is Arya?" Eragon asked.

She had been tossing and turning, seeming feverish and pale. "Her strength is failing. You should fly her to the Varden before the poison does any more damage."

Eragon's face darkened. "I won't leave you behind, not with the Urgals so near."

I shrugged. "As you wish. But I'm warning you, she won't live if you stay with me."

"Don't say that. Help me save her. We can still do it. Consider it a life for a life—atonement for Torkenbrand's death."

All pretense of optimism fell from my face at once. I glared at him. "It's not a debt owed, least of all to you—" A horn sounded through the forest.

A hunting horn.

Without another word, I departed again.

Every time we had run, we had always ridden for fear of death, but this time still, we rode faster and faster, spurred by the sheer will to live.

A waterfall rumbled in the distance and behind me, I could something like explosions. When I glanced behind, I saw that it was rather Saphira and Eragon dropping enormous boulders onto the crowd of Urgals who were, at this point, alarmingly close.

A waterfall rumbled in the distance, and above its thundering roar, I heard Saphira beating her wings as she landed beyond my line of sight. When I emerged into the clearing where he had landed, he ran alongside Snowfire, vaulting himself behind Arya's propped up body.

"Is there a valley or gorge ahead that I can leave through?" I tried to keep my voice calm, though I could guess his answer.

"It was dark," Eragon said apprehensively. "So I might have missed something…but I think not." He said the very last bit very quickly and quietly.

I pulled on the horses' reins and stopped them, swearing loudly. "Are you telling me the only place I can go is to the Varden?"

"Yes, but don't stop. The Urgals are almost upon us!" Eragon said urgently.

"NO!" I said angrily. "I warned you that I wouldn't go to the Varden, but you went ahead and trapped me between a hammer and an anvil! You're the one with the elf's memories. Why didn't you tell me this was a dead end?"

Eragon bristled. "All I knew was where we had to go, not what lay in between. Don't blame me for choosing to come."

"Of course," I scoffed. "You _never_ know!" I spun away from him furiously.

"What's your quarrel with the Varden? It can't be so terrible that you must keep it hidden even now. Would you rather fight the Kull than reveal it? How many times will we go through this before you trust me?"

I couldn't bring myself to look at him. He respected me, even now after we'd had our disagreements, he trusted me inherently. I couldn't stand to see that turn to hatred.

_And yet…_

"Murtagh," said Eragon earnestly. "Unless you wish to die, we must go to the Varden. Don't let me walk into their arms without knowing how they will react to you. It's going to be dangerous enough without unnecessary surprises."

I drew my breath, readying myself.

"My name is Murtagh Morzansson. I am the son of Morzan, the first and last of the Forsworn, and most devoted servant of Galbatorix."

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><p><em><strong>If you would like me to post more often, send me money I can buy a computer, or, you know, you could just REVIEW!<strong>_


	11. Chapter 10, Freedom

_**The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN.**_

_Sorry for the delay. Things have been hectic around here: I got a dog! Also, summer sess is asinine. And I'm trying to prep for my LSATs and try to get my CS minor done. Clearly, I'm a masochist, but I digress._

_I must have read _Eragon_ at least ten times by now, in my attempts to squeeze out every little factoid that we are told about Murtagh in order to better prepare myself to write his version of the next book, WHICH IS COMING UP VERY SOON! You'll be glad to know that this is the last chapter that Eragon and Murtagh spend together in a formulaic fashion._

_I wonder if anyone noticed…I changed the name of this fic from _The Other Rider_ to_ The Red Rider_. A simple change, but an attractive one I hope you'll agree. The former name always seemed a tad clumsy and gauche for my taste although it did, to me, convey the degree of alienation that Murtagh always suffered._

_I'd also like to take a moment and thank everyone who favv-ed, followed, and reviewed this story. Your words (and clicks) mean so much to me. It gives me the encouragement to go on. And if you haven't taken a moment to review yet and have been reading along silently, you are just as important! But you should review anyway :)_

_Also: If you haven't already told me more about what you think of Nasuada and Murtagh, please stop by the reviews section and send me a line. I'm still trying to settle on how I want to portray them._

_**UPDATE**__:__ Thank you to brintraveler for helping me correct this chapter._

__More races for Murtagh. He never has a chance to stop and catch his breath. Enjoy!__

_xoxo —ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

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><p><em>Chapter 10, Freedom<em>

Saphira crashed through the trees and brush, bursting into the clearing, fangs bared, tail raised, growling loudly.

Eragon merely gazed at me, stupefied.

"You must understand, I didn't choose this!" I cried, defensively, desperately. I ripped my shirt off and turned my back to him. "See that? I was only three when I got it. During one of his many drunken rages, Morzan threw his sword at me. My back was laid open by the very sword you now carry, the only thing I expected to receive as inheritance, until Brom stole it from my father's corpse. You think my heritage damning to me, but it serves only as a testament to every terrible agony I've had to endure."

The hunting horn rang out behind us again. I grabbed the horses' reins and forced them forward.

"Your tale is hard to believe. How do I know you aren't lying?"

"Why would I lie?" I laughed harshly. "What falsehood worse than this could I be hiding by lying?" I did not let him answer. "I can't prove anything to you now. Keep your doubts until we reach the Varden. They'll recognize me quickly enough."

"I must know," pressed Eragon. "Do you serve the Empire?"

"No. And if I did, what would I accomplish by traveling with you? If I were trying to capture or kill you, I would have left you in prison."

"You could be leading the Urgals to the Varden."

"Then," I said shortly, "Why am I still with you? I know where the Varden are now. What reason could I have for delivering myself to them? If I were going to attack them, I'd turn around and join the Urgals."

"Maybe you're an assassin," he suggested, still scrutinizing me suspiciously.

"Maybe." I said flatly. "You can't really know, can you?"

The forest ended, and we stepped onto a pebbly beach. A deep lake filled the valley, blocking their way. The water gleamed with flickering starlight. The mountain walls restricted passage around the water to a thin strip of shore on either side of the lake, both no more than a few steps wide. At the lake's far end, a broad sheet of water tumbled down a black cliff into mounds of froth.

"The falls, you said, did you not?"

"Yes, come!"

But we were only halfway to the waterfall, when a roar burst from the forest, as a line of Urgals charged from the brush we had just left. The Urgals amassed before the lake, but immediately the horde split and started around both sides of the lake.

"RUN!" I shouted. With a huge splash, Saphira dove into the depths of the lake and emerged on the other side, wreaking havoc among the Kull. I grasped his forearm and pulled him forward to the waterfall even as he fought against me.

"SAPHIRA! _NO_!"

But I did not loosen my grip, dragging him along with me.

We were almost to the waterfall. The noise was overwhelming, like an avalanche. A white wall of water gushed down the cliff, pounding the rocks below with a fury that sent mist spraying through the air to run down their faces. Four yards from the thunderous curtain, the beach widened, giving them room to maneuver.

I wondered how the Varden would even hear us over the deafening roar of water.

Behind us, Saphira roared.

Eragon made to turn, but I pushed him together the waterfall. "GO!" I ordered him. "I will help her." I hoisted Arya into his arms and splashed back the way I had come.

The narrow edge of the valley caused the Kull to file toward the waterfall one by one, so I made quick work dispatching the first few easily with a few well-placed arrows.

Eragon was bellowing behind me, repeating over and over, _"Aí varden abr du Shur'tugals gata vanta_!" while banging on the rock's face with a stone—he looked like a madman.

Nothing happened.

The Urgals were gaining on me so I backpedaled and rejoined him beside the rock face, to fight to the death it appeared.

Saphira bugled an alarm and I spun around—the chieftain was running toward Eragon, far ahead of his comrades, his sword held aloft, a look of madness in his enormous, bullish eyes. Drawing back my arm, I heaved my sword forward with all my might.

It revolved once and struck the chieftain in the chest with a dull crunch. I dashed forward and yanked my weapon from his body.

"_Jierda theirra kalfis_!" Eragon shouted.

Twenty of the charging Urgals fell into lake, howling and clutching their legs where shards of bone protruded. But, without breaking stride, the rest of the Urgals advanced over their fallen companions. A flight of arrows, impossible to see in the darkness, brushed past us and clattered against the cliff.

"What now?" I yelled, desperately reached around. I fitted arrows to my bow, and let several fly indiscriminately, my desperado making my movements frenzied as though I were in some absurd dance.

"I don't know! This is where we're supposed to be!" He looked terrified.

"Ask-the-elf!" I spat through gritted teeth.

Eragon seemed helpless. Saphira dove back into the water and swam up in front of Eragon, pulled me over her body and behind her armor as the Urgal archers shot another volley of arrows at us.

"We're on the wrong side of the lake!" Eragon said suddenly.

"WHAT?" I bellowed furiously.

Eragon slammed Zar'roc back into its sheath and exclaimed, "The Varden are on the other side of the lake. We have to go through the waterfall!"

He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the cascading water. "I'll persuade the animals. GO!" He sliced Arya loose from the saddle and hoisted her onto Saphira. He paused for a moment, touching both the horses on the snout, eyes closed in concentration—

His eyes flashed open.

"GO! GO! GO!"

He grabbed the horses' reins and led them forward. I splashed along behind him frantically. The Urgals were barely a few yards away now. Snowfire and Tornac tossed their heads, then dashed into the thundering downpour, whinnying as it struck their backs. They floundered, struggling to stay above water.

I sheathed my sword and jumped in after them. But as I swam underwater, a strong hand jerked me up above the water.

An Urgal leered at me.

I reached inside my shirt and slashed at his face with my dagger. With a howl he dropped me, but my attack did not stop him. He swung at me with his mace and though the water softened the blow, I did not move fast enough.

It crashed against my torso.

I doubled up in pain, my head sinking underwater. Blearily I looked around, preparing for the next attack, I grabbed hold of a ledge and pushed myself farther into the waterfall. The current was the strongest here; the tremendous weight of the waterfall slammed down on my weakened body with a backbreaking force.

I frantically kicked for the surface as water threatened to overtake my burning lungs, but I only rose a few feet before the deluge halted my ascent. I panicked, kicking harder, thrashing, fighting the insurmountable current.

I could not die like this, so close to salvation. So close to freedom. My lungs screamed for one last breath of cool, live-giving air, but red dots swam in front of my eyes, my vision was cloudy, growing steadily darker…

Suddenly a hand grasped the back of my tunic and dragged me through the water, toward the waterfall. My rescuer sliced through the lake with quick, short strokes.

I collapsed onto a sandbar, my body heaving with breaths, coughing violently, so that my entire body shook from the ordeal.

Sounds of combat erupted from where we came and I looked up.

The monsters on the opposite shore where we had stood only moments before fell beneath a withering hail of arrows from crevasses that pockmarked the cliff. Scores of Urgals already floated belly up in the water, riddled with fletches.

A gruff voice next to me said, "_Akh Guntéraz dorzâda!_ What were they thinking? You would have drowned!"

I glanced around. Next to me stood a diminutive man no taller than my elbow. Besides him, Eragon was prostrated on the sand, gasping for breath and wearing a weathered expression similar to mine.

The dwarf was busy wringing water out of his long braided beard. His chest was stocky, and he wore a chain-mail jacket cut off at the shoulders to reveal muscular arms. A war ax hung from a wide leather belt strapped around his waist. An iron-bound oxhide cap, bearing the symbol of a hammer surrounded by twelve stars, sat firmly on his head. Even with the cap, he barely topped four feet.

He looked longingly at the fighting and said, "_Barzul_, I wish I could join them!" He tugged at his beard in agitation.

Somehow, still panting, I found my feet and stood, swaying weakly.

Two stone doors had opened in the cliff, revealing a broad tunnel nearly thirty feet tall that burrowed its way into the mysterious depths of the mountain. A line of flameless lamps filled the passageway with a pale sapphire light that spilled out onto the lake.

Saphira stood before the tunnel, surrounded by several men all of who bore extremely grave expressions. A menacing, bald man stood on my other side, glaring every which way.

As Eragon slowly stood, he grabbed me from behind and pressed the cold edge of a knife against my throat. Eragon looked angry, but the robed man said, "Stop! If you use magic, I'll kill your friend here." Eragon tried to speak, but the man snarled and pressed the dagger harder against my throat. "None of that! If you say or do anything I don't tell you to, he will die. Everyone inside. _Now_."

He backed into the tunnel, pulling me with me roughly so that I nearly fell.

We were lead through an arched doorway, down a narrow corridor, and through a door into a large bare room, all the while our every move carefully watched, and sword tips at our throats.

"There is an injured—" Eragon tried to say.

"Do not speak! It must wait until you have been tested." He shoved me away from him into another soldier who replaced the dagger against my throat.

"Remove your weapons and slide them to me." Rough hands searched my body and stripped away my sword, dagger, and bow. I saw the dwarf do the same for Eragon. "Now step away from your dragon and slowly approach me," commanded the bald man.

Eragon moved forward.

When they were a yard apart, the man said, "Stop there! Now remove the defenses from around your mind and prepare to let me inspect your thoughts and memories. If you try to hide anything from me, I will take what I want by force…which would drive you mad. If you don't submit, your companion will be killed."

"Why?" Eragon asked, aghast.

"To be sure you aren't in Galbatorix's service and to understand why hundreds of Urgals are banging on our front door," growled the bald man. "No one may enter Farthen Dûr without being tested."

My face fell, though I quickly hid my dismay.

I had hoped beyond hope, despite my resistance to coming here, that finally, perhaps I was in a place that I did not have to fear discovery. The Varden was known to welcome refugees, survivors, and offer shelter from the Empire, that I could live at peace, undisturbed and unfettered.

But clearly there was no hope for me.

"There isn't time. We need a healer!" Eragon protested.

"Silence!" roared the man. "Until you are examined, your words are meaningless!"

"But she's _dying_!"

"It will have to wait! No one will leave this room until we have discovered the truth of this matter. Unless you wish—"

"Are you blind, Egraz Carn? Can't you see that's an elf on the dragon?" The dwarf interrupted. "We cannot keep her here if she's in danger. Ajihad and the King will have our heads if she's allowed to die!"

The man's eyes tightened with anger. After a moment he relaxed and said smoothly, "Of course, Orik, we wouldn't want that to happen." He snapped his fingers and pointed at Arya. "Remove her from the dragon."

Two human warriors sheathed their swords and hesitantly approached Saphira, who watched them steadily. The men unstrapped Arya from the saddle and lowered the elf to the floor. One of the men inspected her face.

"It's the dragon-egg courier, Arya!"

The bald man fixed his steely gaze on Eragon and said silkily, "You have much explaining to do."

"She was poisoned with the Skilna Bragh while in prison. Only Túnivor_'s_ Nectar can save her now."

The bald man nodded at the warrior and they carried Arya out of the room. When they had left, he turned to us again. "Enough of these theatrics, we have wasted too much time already. Prepare to be examined," he snapped.

"You'd better not harm him, Egraz Carn, else the king will have words for you."

The dwarf was on our side, or at least, on Eragon's.

The bald man looked at him irritably, then faced Eragon with a small smile. "Only if he resists." He said with a leer.

He fixed Eragon with his malevolent eyes and Eragon gasped, obviously in pain. I watched as Eragon began to sweat and react to discomforting feeling of having his mind invaded.

Several minutes passed.

It surprised me that even with a dragon by his side, they were foolish enough to question his loyalties. Of course, it was just to humor them, I assumed. If Saphira had wanted to, she could have ripped them from limb to limb.

Finally, the man withdrew and Eragon swayed and fell to the cool marble. Orik caught him neatly and held him upright until he could regain his balance, crying angrily, "You went too far! He wasn't strong enough for this."

"He'll live," the bald man said dismissively. This didn't do anything to endear any of us to him.

"Well, what did you find?" The dwarf persisted. "Is he to be trusted or not?" he asked testily.

The words came grudgingly. "He…is not your enemy."

Eragon gingerly stood straight. Orik wrapped a burly arm around him, helping him to his feet. Eragon wove unsteadily, glaring at the bald man. A low growl rumbled in Saphira's throat.

The bald man ignored them, turning to me. "Your turn," he said.

I stiffened and shook my head. A sword point dug into my neck and I felt it nip my throat.

"You will not be protected here if you refuse," Orik supplicated.

"Eragon has been declared trustworthy, so you cannot threaten to kill him to influence me. Since you can't do that, nothing you say or do will convince me to open my mind."

Sneering, the bald man cocked what would have been an eyebrow. "What of your own life? I can still threaten that."

"It won't do any good." I told him flatly.

Eragon plied me with his eyes, but I ignored him.

"You don't have a choice!" The man exploded. He pressed his hot palm against my forehead, clenching my skin to hold me in place.

I gritted my teeth as the attack begun, a battering ram against the fortress of my mind, but after a minute he realized it was too blunt to enter. So it became a single sword, searching for a crevice between the stones. I felt the veins in my face and neck throb as I fought his invasion by enclosing my mind in a seamless steel encasement.

The bald man bared his teeth with fury and frustration at the resistance; his fingers dug mercilessly into my face, drawing pinpricks of blood that fell into my eyes_—_

"That is _enough_!" Orik leapt forward and wrenched the bald man away from me with strength disproportional to his size.

The bald man stumbled back, then turned on Orik furiously. "How dare you!" He shouted, eyes bulging. "You questioned my leadership, opened the gates without permission, and now _this_! You've shown nothing but insolence and treachery. Do you think your King will protect you now?" He stood, breathing like a winded beast.

"We don't have any right to torture him for information! Ajihad won't sanction it. Not after you've examined the Rider and found him free of fault. And they brought us _Arya_!"

"Would you allow him to enter unchallenged? Are you so great a fool as to put us all at risk?" demanded the bald man.

The dwarf Orik bristled. "You would have let them die! If I had waited any longer, the Urgals would have killed them."

They stood with barely an inch between them, a dwarf and a giant. Orik's head barely came up to the magician's chest, yet somehow they were equally matched in conviction, their furies unbounded.

"Can he use magic?" roared Orik.

The bald man's face suddenly grew expressionless.

"Can he?" Orik repeated, his voice echoing in the room.

"No," came the reluctant reply.

"Then what do you fear? It is impossible for him to escape, and he can't work any devilry with all of us here, especially if your powers are as great as you say. But don't listen to me; ask Ajihad what he wants done."

The bald man stared at Orik for a moment, his face full of loathing. His fingers clenched into a fist and unclenched. Then he addressed Eragon coldly, "Because I was unable to complete my examination, you and your _friend_ will remain here for the night. He will be killed if he attempts to leave."

"I will make sure some food is brought." Orik grunted. And he, too, left, cursing under his breath.

Eragon pointed out the cut on my neck; it was dripping albeit more and more slowly. I held my sleeve against it to staunch the flow.

"Are you alright?"

I nodded jerkily.

"Did he get anything from you?"

I shook my head; it throbbed.

"How were you able to keep him out? He's so strong."

"I've been trained well." I told him, bitterness lacing my voice.

"I didn't let them know who you are, Murtagh."

I had surmised as much. If the bald man had realized, he probably would have ordered my execution on the spot.

"Thank you for not betraying me."

"They didn't recognize you?"

"No."

"And you still say that you are Morzan's son?"

"It would be an absurd lie to tell. What glory would it gain me? Nothing but perpetual distrust. This heirloom is quite enough." I laughed derisively, gesticulating to my scar.

A splash of blood rolled off his dragon's wing onto Eragon's shoulder. He leapt to his feet with a cry and began to mend the damage to her wing. A splatter landed next to my foot. I dipped my finger in it. It burned like hot oil. With a yell, I scrabbled at my finger, wiping the residue on my tunic before it ate through my finger.

Afterwards, I said quietly, "I hope they bring food soon." I watched him recover from the toll of the magic.

"Why _are_ you here?" He asked me, curiously. "How did you manage to find the Ra'zac by yourself? I've never heard of any of the Forsworn having children_!_ If you really are Morzan's son, Galbatorix would never let you wander around Alagaësia freely. "

"It is a long tale." And not one that I was eager to share.

"We're not going anywhere."

I hesitated. For all the trouble he caused, he _had_ been helpful and even until now, loyal. I owed him this courtesy at least.

Painstakingly and unwillingly, I explained to him my origins and how my relationship with Morzan and my mother had been tenuous, strained, and turbulent; how their deaths had left me within a stone's throw of Galbatorix.

"But then you must know well the intricacies of his rule." Eragon began excitedly. "You can help the Varden. What about—"

I shook my head, interrupting his futile babbling. "I always distanced myself from the court and rarely met him. We had talked before, but always in public. Until my eighteenth birthday." I told him about the outlandish experience and the King's offer.

"You accepted?" Eragon howled at me.

His indignation reminded me strongly of Tornac's outrage that night, how tirelessly he had tried to warn me. _Why was it that the hardest lessons had to be taught so painfully?_

"You have never met Galbatorix, Eragon," I said calmly. "You cannot imagine. His manner, his voice are yet alluring, his words like gilded poetries, confusing you, luring you. He was, at the same time, the most convincing and frightening man I've ever met. Of course, I accepted. It seemed so beautiful, the dream."

And so heinously it had shattered.

I finished my story and he and his dragon, sat in the darkness, assessing the new additions to what they had previously known as the son of Morzan and the King of Alagaësia.

"So join the Varden!" Eragon said fervently. "Perhaps at first they will distrust you, but you can prove yourself."

I laughed contemptuously. "Must I spell it all out for you, Eragon? The Varden will never trust me. The marks Morzan left on me have blackened my fate forever. As for joining the Varden, I have no intention of swearing allegiance to them. They are little better than Galbatorix. My only desire is to stay hidden and live in peace. And if the Varden goes about shouting that the son of Morzan has joined their cause, Galbatorix will capture me in a moment."

"But surely you don't _want_ Galbatorix to remain in power. You don't still believe his lies…?" Eragon eyed me like I was a madman.

"No, but the Varden is certainly not superior either. The King is, of course, mad and cannot stay, but the system is not flawed. Yet the Varden will rip it apart, which will only sow anarchy in the Empire, destroying centuries of careful configuration."

He tired me, Eragon did. How did he have the sheer will to stand there and speak so openly, with such unwavering hope, expectation, and optimism? Why couldn't he see the world for the dark and stagnant place that it was?

He was still a child, I reminded myself – the glory of being a Rider had only be recently thrust upon him and it was unfair to expect to know how to abuse it already. I could not antagonize him out of the envy that I could no longer afford the luxury of innocence.

-x-

I did not sleep.

I was all too aware that this night could be my last. If the magi were given license, he would, no doubt, order my death and carry it out himself, sparing no gruesome detail.

As a result, when several hours later Eragon finally stirred, I was weak from my wounds, and lightheaded from exhaustion and my self-inflicted vigil. He glanced around and saw me awake. He crawled over to me on his hands and knees to sit beside me.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Awhile. I'm surprised Saphira didn't wake you sooner." I smiled as her sleeping form jerked and growled again. It seemed she was having a most entertaining dream.

"I was tired enough to sleep through a thunderstorm," Eragon said a sigh. "Has anyone come to see us?" He was interrupted by voices outside the room.

"I suppose we'll find out now."

The door opened, and a dozen soldiers marched inside. The first man gulped when he saw Saphira. They were followed by Orik and the bald man.

"You have been summoned to Ajihad, leader of the Varden," The bald man announced.

"Where are our horses? And our weapons?"

The bald man looked at him with disdain. "Your weapons will be returned to you when Ajihad sees fit, not before. As for your horses, they await you in the tunnel. Now come!"

One of the warriors motioned to Eragon. "You go first." Eragon went through the doorway, followed by Saphira and me.

We passed through several corridors before reaching a huge, gloomy tunnel. I had been attempting to keep track of directions in case my life was endangered and I needed to escape but I could no longer tell where my feet were taking me, much less any cardinal indications.

At the mouth of the tunnel, our steeds awaited.

"You will ride single file down the center of the tunnel," instructed the bald man. "If you attempt to go anywhere else, you will be stopped." When Eragon started to climb onto Saphira, the bald man shouted, "No! Ride your horse until I tell you otherwise." His eyes bulged.

Eragon shrugged and took Snowfire's reins. I fell into step behind him and behind us Saphira loped along, unconcernedly.

The warriors divided in half to surround us though they gave as a wide a berth as possible. Orik and the bald man went to the head of the procession.

"How is Arya?" Eragon asked.

The bald man ignored him and after a moment, Orik said, "We do not know. The healers are still with her."

As we proceeded for a good part of an hour, my apprehension increased. No one had recognized me as of yet, but Ajihad certainly would. He had fought my father during the time of the Forsworn's dissipation and he had known my mother and possibly dueled her as well. His spies would certainly have told him of me.

Through the inky blackness, a distant glow distinguished itself. As we rode on, I could see thick marble pillars laced with rubies and amethysts standing in rows along the walls. Scores of lanterns hung between the pillars, suffusing the air with liquid brilliance. Gold parquetry gleamed from the pillars' bases like molten threads. Arching over the ceiling were carved raven heads, their beaks open in mid-crow. At the end of the hallway rested two colossal black doors, accented by shimmering silver lines that depicted a seven-pointed crown that spanned both sides.

The bald man stopped and raised a hand. He turned to Eragon. "You may ride upon your dragon now. Do not attempt to fly away. There will be people watching, so remember who and what you are."

I could tell Eragon did not understand these instructions. He was new to politics, but I had spent years tracking and learning the intricate artifices of the courtiers in Galbatorix's court, though I did never had been tempted to join their games.

It was clear that the bald man disliked, distrusted, and, perhaps, even resented Eragon. He wanted it to appear as though he could control us—and yet, he wanted it to appear as if the Varden and this new Rider were old friends, to show off their new acquisition like a prize pony.

Eragon squared his shoulders.

"Walk to the doors, and once they open, follow the path. Go slowly."

Saphira approached the doors at a measured pace. Her scales sparkled in the light, sending glints of color dancing over the pillars. Without warning, the doors swung outward on hidden joints. As the rift widened between them, rays of sunlight streamed into the tunnel, falling on Saphira and Eragon.

When my eyes grew accustomed to the blinding light, I peered forward and staggered in shock. We were in the massive belly of a volcanic crater. Its walls narrowed to a small ragged opening so high above that I could not comprehend the distance. Soft beams of light fell through the aperture, illuminating the crater's center, though it left the rest of the cavernous expanse in hushed twilight.

The crater's far side, hazy blue in the distance, looked to be nearly ten miles away. Giant icicles hundreds of feet thick and thousands of feet long hung leagues above them like glistening daggers. Father down the crater's inner walls, dark mats of lichens covered the rock face.

A wide cobblestone path ran straight to the center of the crater, where it ended at the base of a snowy-white mountain that glittered like an uncut gem with thousands of colored lights. It was less than a tenth of the height of the crater that loomed over and around it, but its diminutive appearance was deceiving, for it was slightly higher than a mile.

Beside me, the dwarf chuckled and said, "Look well, humans, for no Rider has set eyes upon this for nigh over a hundred years. The airy peak under which we stand is Farthen Dûr—discovered thousands of years ago by the father of our race, Korgan, while he tunneled for gold. In the center stands our greatest achievement: Tronjheim, the mountain city built from purest marble."

A dense sea of people clustered around the tunnel's entrance. They lined the cobblestone pathway—dwarves and humans packed together like trees in a thicket. There were hundreds, no, _thousands_ of them: children in dirty smocks, hardy men with scarred knuckles, women in homespun dresses, and stout, dwarves who fingered their beards uneasily.

The humans were a hard, tough people. All the men had daggers or knives at their waists; many were armed for war. The women carried themselves proudly, but they seemed to conceal a deep-abiding weariness. These were not the weak, soft breeds that cluttered the empire. All of them bore the same taut expression—that of an injured animal when a predator is nearby and escape is impossible.

And all of them, every eye, every face was focused on Eragon.

He squirmed under the watch, uncomfortable with the attention for a moment and then he raised his hand and waved.

For a brief second the crowd hesitated, then a wild roar swept through it, and a wave of sound crashed upon us.

"Very good," said the bald man from in front of my horse. "Now walk."

As Eragon passed through the crowd, the crowd's eyes drifted from him and his Dragon to me. I rode stiffly, not looking anywhere but directly in front of me. Not daring to look. Waiting for the moment that a cry would rise from the crowd—

_Traitor. Dirty-blood. Monster. Bastard. _All of these and more I had been called.

The white marble of Tronjheim was highly polished and shaped into flowing contours, as if it had been poured into place. It was dotted with countless round windows framed by elaborate carvings. Directly ahead, two thirty-foot-high gold griffins guarded a massive timber gate. The walls were lined with fluted pillars of vermillion jasper. Between the pillars hulked ominous statues of outlandish creatures.

The heavy gate rumbled open before Saphira as hidden chains slowly raised the mammoth beams. A four-story-high passageway extended straight toward the center of Tronjheim. The top three levels were pierced by rows of archways that revealed gray tunnels curving off into the distance. Rich tapestries hung between the different levels, embroidered with heroic figures and tumultuous battle scenes. Yellow zircons three times the size of a man capped the dark columns, coruscating beams of piercing light along the hall.

The ceiling was capped by a blood-red star ruby of monstrous size. The jewel was twenty yards across and nearly as thick. Its face had been carved to resemble a rose in full bloom, and so skilled was the craftsmanship, the flower almost seemed to be real. A wide belt of lanterns wrapped around the edge of the sapphire, which cast striated bands of blushing light over everything below. The flashing rays of the star within the gem made it appear as if a giant eye gazed down at us.

Tronjheim seemed like a gods' paradise rather than the home of a crumbling resistance. It seemed impossible that it had been built by mortal beings. What I had previously considered splendor, Urû'baen, now paled before it.

The hallways across from us led to a massive cedar door, stained black with. My apprehension returned. I would certainly be unmasked now, I could feel it in my bones.

We waited before the door.

Finally—

"Come in."

And the door opened.

-x-

We were ushered into an elegant study. Rows and rows of thick tomes lined the walls. A wrought-iron staircase wound up into a small balcony overlooking the crater we had left behind. At the far end of the room, a man stood behind a large walnut desk.

The scene reminded me strongly of Galbatorix's study.

Everything about Ajihad spoke of power.

His skin gleamed the color of oiled ebony. The dome of his head was shaved bare, but a closely trimmed black beard covered his chin and upper lip. Strong features shadowed his face, and grave, intelligent eyes lurked under his brow. He bore himself with great dignity, exuding an intense, commanding air.

When he spoke, his voice was strong, confident: "Welcome to Tronjheim. I am Ajihad. Please, sit." He watched Saphira for a moment and then leaned into a high-backed chair behind the desk. He pressed the tips of his fingers together and studied us impassively, his bright eyes flickering between the three of us.

Another identically bald man appeared from the shadows behind the staircase and stood to his shoulder whispering, before joining his brother.

_Twins_.

His eyes turned to me. "So it is you, young one, who refuses to prostrate himself before our might." It seemed as though he could see through me. "You have placed me in a difficult position by refusing to be examined." He said to me. "The Twins have assured me that they can control you and because of your actions on behalf of Eragon and Arya. I understand that there may be things you wish to keep hidden in your mind, but as long as you do, we cannot trust you."

"I do not belong to either the Varden or the Empire. Nor do I owe allegiance to any man but myself," I told Ajihad, careful to keep my words respectful but unshakable. I raised my chin defiantly. "You would not trust me anyway."

Ajihad's calm expression flickered, his visage darkening. "It has been three and twenty years since I heard that voice. It strikes against my memories just as flint. It came from one more beast than man." He stood and walked around his desk. "Get up." His eyes flashed dangerously.

I stood, ready.

The soldiers along the wall tensed, too.

"Remove your shirt," Ajihad ordered. "Turn around."

I complied, dread rising in my chest. When I pivoted and there was a sharp intake of breath from all in the room.

"Murtagh," he breathed. Ajihad turned on the Twins and thundered, "Did you know of this?"

The Twins bowed their heads. "We discovered his name in Eragon's mind—" "—but we did not suspect that this boy—" "—It never occurred—" "—son of one as powerful as Morzan—"

He raised a hand, forestalling their explanations. "Do you still refuse to be probed?"

"Yes."

He sighed. "There will be unpleasant consequences if you refuse. Unless the Twins can certify that you pose no threat, we cannot give you credence, despite, and perhaps because of, the assistance you have given Eragon. Without that verification, dwarf and human alike will tear you apart if they learn of your presence. I'll be forced to keep you confined at all times as much for your protection as for ours. Don't force yourself into that situation when it can easily be avoided."

I shook my head sharply. "You know as well as I do, even if I were to submit, I would still be treated like a leper. All I wish is to leave. If you let me do that peacefully, I'll never reveal your location to the Empire."

"What will happen if you are captured and brought before Galbatorix?" demanded Ajihad. "He will extract every secret from your mind, no matter how strong you may be. Even if you could resist him, how can we trust that you won't rejoin him in the future? I cannot take that chance."

"Will you hold me prisoner forever?" I asked heatedly.

"Only until you let yourself be examined. If you are found trustworthy, the Twins will remove all knowledge of Farthen Dûr's location from your mind before you leave. We won't risk someone with those memories falling into Galbatorix's hands," Ajihad said sternly.

I could see from the corner of my eye, Eragon supplicating me with a pleading expression.

He didn't understand.

No matter if it was Ajihad, a higher power, or Galbatorix, my mind was the only possession that was not stolen from me. Men had tried to breach it before, but I defended it vigorously, for I was only safe with my innermost thoughts.

"My mind is the one sanctuary that has not been stolen from me. Men have tried to breach it before, but I've learned to defend it vigorously, for I am only safe with my innermost thoughts. You have asked for the one thing I cannot give, least of all to those two." I spared the Twins a disparaging look. "Do with me what you will, but know this: death will take me before I'll expose myself to their probing."

Admiration glinted in his eyes. "I'm not surprised by your choice, though I had hoped otherwise. You remind me—your fury, your passion, your visage reminds me of your father, Murtagh. I only hope that is all you share with him." He signaled for the guards to step forward. "Take him to an isolate room and bar the door securely. Post six men by the entrance and allow no one inside until I come to see him. Do not speak to him, either."

Six soldiers surrounded me, eying me suspiciously as though I were a venomous snake, grasping me firmly by my arms and dragging me away.

_I'm sorry_, Eragon mouthed to me.

I shrugged unapologetically. He was not responsible for my parentage, after all.

-x-

I was dragged through a dizzying sequence of hallways and corridors before stopping at a slim wooden door. One soldier produced a set of keys from his robes, unlocked it, and pushed me inside. I fell to the hard, stone floor. The door shut behind me, encapsulating me in inky darkness.

I reached out with my fingers and found the boundaries of the cell. It was only a few feet wide and long. I could not even stand up fully, but had to crouch. I settled on the floor, crossing my legs and waiting.

It was nothing better than I had expected.

How the time passed I did not know, there was no way to tell. But after sometime, the door opened and a plate of food was pushed inside.

I ate it ravenously, lightheaded from hunger. But even after I ate, I still felt dizzy and I realized it was from the wound inflicted by the Kull warrior yesterday. I could not see it in the darkness, but I touched it gingerly with my fingers. It was wet, oozing some fluid, the broken skin raw and painful.

Hours later—I guessed—the door opened again and an angry voice filled the small space: "Ajihad did not sanction this. He is merely under watch, not a prisoner of war or a traitor."

Soldiers ducked into the cell, grabbed me by the arms and dragged me out.

"I can walk!" I growled.

Abruptly, they let me go and I toppled to the ground. Orik glared at the warriors as he helped me to my feet. The soldiers led us forward to a different wing of the castle.

"I have a message from Ajihad." Orik said brusquely. "He is occupied at the moment dealing with the aftermath of Saphira's arrival and cannot meet you. Mollified by Eragon and Saphira's passionate reassurances, he has arranged for your stay here at the Varden for the time being,. But you will confined to a room secured by guards. You will not have to live that hovel. But if you try to escape, you will be slain."

Here the dwarf paused and glanced at me sideways. I stared down at him. "I thank Ajihad for his courtesy. But my answer has not changed."

He chuckled. "I did not expect it to change. But Ajihad believes firmly that one is innocent until proven guilty. As distrustful as I am of you, I would have to agree, otherwise we would to turn into animals and sons of an anarchic land."

We had stopped at another wooden door.

"Here is your new home. Welcome to Farthen Dûr, Murtagh Morzansson."

The two soldiers marched me into the—it would go too far to call it a room—cell without ceremony.

The chamber was warm and well lit, with a washbasin in one corner and a writing desk equipped with quills and ink in another. The ceiling was extensively carved with lacquered figures; the floor was covered with a plush rug. A stout bed was tucked into the farthest corner. There was a single window, a slat the size of my two hands.

The door was closed behind me.

A glorified prison.

Austere, but fair given the circumstances.

I felt a sudden sharpness at my temple, as if struck by a sudden blow, or as if something within had suddenly escaped by shooting right through my skull. The pain brought me to my knees.

My world turned to darkness.

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><p><em><strong>If you would like me to post more often, send me money I can buy a computer, or, you know, you could just REVIEW!<strong>_


	12. Chapter 11, Nasuada

_**The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN.**_

_It's certainly been a while guys. I'm sorry. I've been a little depressed lately. You know that dog I got not a month ago? My parents gave him back to the shelter! I feel awful :'( and couldn't bring myself to write anything._

_On a happier note, from now on, it's just me and my sinister mind at work :) But don't fear! Life gets (temporarily) nice for Murtagh.__ I'm actually so nervous. I've been going back on forth on this chapter. I think it's true to character. I hope you like it. *bites nails anxiously* It's a very busy chapter, full of action :)  
><em>

_ And yes, you silly geese, the title for the previous chapter is _supposed_ to be ironic._

_Also, I noticed my ANs were getting longer and longer, and I know you just want to read the story so I'll stop talki—_

_Xoxo —ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

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><p><em>Chapter 11, Nasuada<em>

Someone was pressing a cool, wet rag to my forehead. And humming under his breath, no, _her_ breath—the voice was high and female.

I opened my eyes.

I was laying on the cot in the corner of my new quarters, propped up by a cushion.

A young woman was seated beside me, pressing a cold compress to my face.

She was rather young, matching Eragon in years, but just as dark-complexioned as Ajihad. Her dress was wine red and elegantly cut. A jeweled dagger worn from use hung from her waist in a tooled leather sheath. Her face was striking, with almond-shaped eyes, wide lips, and high cheekbones.

Unlike the other humans, however, she did not seemed world-weary by years of harassment and resistance. Her eyes were warm and bright with emotion and energy. They also sparkled mischievously as though she knew something I did not.

"Ah, you're awake." She beamed at me. "Not as tough as you look then, are you? I guess you don't have any of your father's Rider blood—that's why Eragon healed so quickly, but don't worry. It was rather simple. One of the healers saw to your wound—they needed a respite from Arya, it seems she isn't doing as well as they had hoped by now."

I stared at her, utterly nonplussed.

"Who _are_ you?" I asked hoarsely.

"I am Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad."

So then, this was another ploy to make submit to their demands; they thought tempting me with the weaker sex would persuade me to give up my mind. Did they really think me so petty?

"So this is best the Varden can do to break a prisoner?" I scoffed. "They send a nubile girl to convince him and tend to him in a royal room? Galbatorix should be terrified, indeed."

"No one is trying to break you. You've been hallucinating under a fever for several hours. It only just broke. Triana only said that you needed to rest."

"Why are you are here? Does tending to the Varden's prisoners fall under your royal duties?" I jeered.

"My father instructed me here, to speak to you. To understand your intentions."

"My answer has not changed." I echoed. "The Varden should know when to give up; perhaps that would serve them far better than trying to take on Galbatorix."

"Perhaps." She smiled lightly. "But I have no intention of breaking into your mind, Murtagh. Eragon's words have temporarily allayed my suspicions, though perhaps no one else's. I find that Dragons, if not their Riders, are tremendously good judges of character."

She confused me.

I sat up, pushing her hand still pressing a damp cloth to my forehead away.

"Broth?" She held out a shallow clay bowl filled with a thin, aromatic soup.

I inhaled eagerly. "Thank you." She watched me eat rapaciously.

When I finished, she looked expectantly at me. "You intrigue me. I hope you would not mind to answer my queries now that you are well and fed." She said, almost shyly.

"I do not owe you any explanation."

"Certainly no, but I had hoped you would find yourself more inclined to me than to answer to the Twins."

"Then you though foolishly," I said, snappish.

"Come, Murtagh. Even you must see how alike we are."

"You are the daughter of royalty. My father was Morzan. We could not be more different."

She dismissed my brusque response as though I hadn't spoken. "We both have fathers that will continue to cast their shadows over us beyond their days of halcyon, no matter how we distinguish ourselves. And society will continue to assume they know our natures and belittle us for it."

"I'm quite sure your life was not as difficult as mine."

She shrugged. "Perhaps and perhaps not, but I am just as doomed as you are. I've done things far beyond my means to protect my father who I love more than anything in the world. I would do anything to ensure his well being and continued reign—more than even he knows."

I stared at her. _Means beyond even what Ajihad was aware of? _It sounded ominous coming from such a seemingly innocent maiden.

"And when he, inevitably, passes, I intend to assume his reign for I have seen no one suited better to lead. But, of course, I will be opposed because I am _merely a woman_." She spat these words as though they tasted foul on her lips. "And everything I have accomplished thus far will be trivialized and ignored."

She ended her speech, her eyebrows drawn back as she watched me for a reaction.

I gave her none.

"And you, Murtagh, you have been villainized because of your blood though you have proven yourself loyal and done the Varden a tremendous favor by saving Eragon, not to mention Arya. And yet, once your parentage was found out, they forgot their gratitude."

"True though that may be, Lady Nasuada, I don't trust the Varden, and in extension, I don't trust you."

She stood up. "Fine. Shall we fight for it?" She walked to the wall where a tapestry was held unfurled by two rods. She slid the rods out of the weave so that it fell limp.

She threw one to me. It was rather thick and roughly double the length of a broadsword.

"Surely, you jest. You can't expect _me _to spar with _you_."

She did not miss the inflection of offense intended in my voice. But still she smiled, mirth dancing in her eyes. "I understand entirely. We can, of course, delay this date until you are fully _recuperated_."

My jaw tightened in anger. I understood she was goading me, staking my pride, but I could not resist this jab at my vanity.

"Fine." I said curtly. "Draw your sword."

Slowly, painfully, I rose to my feet, not allowing my features to betray the ache in my bones, the creak of bones, and the echoes of pain in my muscles. Had they healed me at all? I felt like a dead man walking.

"Come, Murtagh. This is not a common brawl. Noble blood pollutes both our veins. Let's us observe the niceties," she said cheerfully, "of a proper duel."

Slowly, I bowed, my neck sore and stiff with reluctance—this was very old dueling etiquette from when the nobles of rank dueled each other over petty squabbles and dubious honors—and she curtsied daintily and I couldn't help but appreciate how pleasantly feminine she was…

Until she raised her sword, that is.

She faced me, eyes shining in excitement, her sword held rather closely to her body. Her slim body was tensed, like a cat about to pounce.

She smiled at me as we faced each other and I felt slight leaping sensation in the region of my stomach that didn't seem to have anything to do with my receding illness.

With a skeptical expression, I obliged her, running forward and swinging my sword toward her torso. The unusual length of our weapons forced us to fight as though we were carrying double bladed pikes. But still, she met me with her weapon between us so solidly that my arm trembled.

Her eyes met mine fiercely and I could read every fleeting emotion—anger, longing, worry, and a fierce, indefatigable desire to prove herself—reflected in her large, expressive eyes.

Goosebumps erupted on my neck.

She interrupted my star-gazing, to bring her weapon under mine and undercut my legs. If it had been a real blade, she would have slice me from limb to limb, but I merely fell to the cold, stone floor, bruising my back.

She spun out of the way, her long, dark waist-length hair whipping behind her like a soft, black cloak. "You are toying with me!" She sputtered, angrily, jabbing her arm at me. "Do not insult me by play-acting."

I got to my feet, gingerly. I _had_ been slowing my reflexes, because I hadn't wanted to hurt her, though my fall had certainly been real: I was still weak from my injury. I wasn't to going to win here with her, but that didn't mean I was going to take it lying down.

And we were at it again: I aimed a blow at her legs, forcing her to leap over the rod. She landed in a crouch, trying to regain her balance and I took the opportunity to lunge at her again. She swung herself around in time to kick out at me, the blow landing squarely on chest, winding me.

I stumbled backward, gasping for a breath.

Her eyes narrowed. She sensed I was still not fighting with my full strength.

When I looked up, swinging at her again, she was smiling again, but it did not reach her eyes and when she spoke her voice was full of cold contempt. "Tell me, Murtagh. How was it to be the servant of the man that slew your father? To tend his horses while he taught his protégé to vanquish the likes of your father?"

She punctuated the verbal jab with a particularly fierce prod of her sword, aimed at my neck.

The muscles in my face tightened. "I have renounced my father," I told her tightly. I spun away to avoid her swing.

I could have killed Nasuada, easily and without a thought. But it would hardly endear me to Ajihad, or the Varden. And killing her would not retract the words she had said. It would be the desperate act of a man, like the last, wild lash from a cornered animal, reeked of fear and desperation.

I was never a coward.

And never mind, I was so weak from the ague that I could barely raise my makeshift sword without my hands shaking.

"Did it not frustrate your pride that Eragon, ordinary like you until now, carries your only inheritance, your father's infamous sword though he cannot hope to match you in skill?" She leaped after me, knocking my sword upwards, catching me bluntly across the face. "Poor Murtagh. Always second, always forgotten, always shunted aside."

Her words struck a chord in me; they cast me back to my childhood. How many times had I mulled over the fact that Selena, my own mother, had abandoned me? Wondering if it had been my fault? If I could have persuaded her to stay, for me? If only that brute of a man, my father, had not existed.

I knew she was playing my sympathies, provoking me so that I would fight honestly, and yet, seemingly, in spite of myself, I could not resist.

Clenching my teeth, I lunged at her, fury flowing hot in my veins. I sliced at her, quicker than ever and yet she blocked me again and again. The flurry of our thrusts and parries grew faster and faster, but no less evenly matched.

As our tempo increased, her eyes drew tears of desperation. This was more than a lighthearted duel, I realized. She was so anxious to prove that being a woman did not define her, that it did not preclude her from doing what she wished.

In desperation, I kicked out at her legs, and she collapsed, falling forward, and grabbing me so I fell, too. She swung her sword out and away from her lithe body so that it landed against my throat.

Face inches from mine, she whispered, "Dead."

-x-

She returned later after soldiers had brought me my dinner, her long dark hair dancing merrily behind her. She sat down again on the edge of my bed, smiling expectantly.

"Hello, Murtagh. I am glad you are well now. You were asleep earlier, so deeply asleep I was worried for a moment."

I did not respond.

"Let us speak, as friends. Would you care for that, or would you prefer to wait until I triumph against you once again?" She teased.

I gnashed my teeth.

She smirked. "Do you find me to be impertinent?"

She was certainly being _something_. Painstakingly, she had gained my respect, and I felt obliged to talk to her.

"I have no reason to lie to you and you can gain nothing by lying to me. So let us be frank with each other. You should know, first, the reason Ajihad insists you remain here is not because you are the scion of Morzan."

"I don't believe you," I said mulishly.

"That is your prerogative," she said carelessly. "And I don't disagree that your bloodline is reason enough for others. But my father fears that you are beholden to Galbatorix. After all, you are his godson."

"The time I spent in Galbatorix's company rivals the time I've spent here. By that logic, any and every subject of the Empire is also suspect."

"Exactly! That is why we have the Twins search the minds of all who seek refuge here."

"You would not understand. Living a stone's throw from Galbatorix and under the thumb of my father has made me realize that no one's life is as important as my own. My mind is my most precious possession, I would protect myself at any and all costs."

"You don't think there's anything worth dying for?" She asked quietly.

"Martyrs are naïve and lovers are fools."

"Those are callous words from one so young." Her eyes seemed sad. "And what of friends?"

"What of them?" I chuntered crossly.

"You risked your life many times over to save Eragon, Saphira, and Arya. Even when you did not know them, you risked not only death but imprisonment from Galbatorix to save Eragon and Arya."

"I've studied politics enough without dabbling in them myself to know that a new player in a struggle for power is always most influential before he is aligned. I had a vested interest in saving him and having him in my debt." I said defensively.

This was true enough, though these hadn't been my reasons at all. I had simply been in the right place at the right time.

"Has he visited you yet?"

"Eragon? No." I said unconcernedly, tracing a pattern on my blanket. "I doubt he knows where I am. In any case, he's most likely occupied, I'm sure, as every spud between the desert and Farthern Dûr is plying him for favors. I'm sure the dwarves and the Varden are drawing their own designs as well."

"I will ask for him to come see you—"

"No!"

She looked perplexed. "You don't want Eragon to visit you?"

"It doesn't matter what I want," I told her, struggling to keep my voice flat and nonchalant. "It is not wise for Eragon to be seen with me anymore. What I can do to benefit him is very little now, but if he continues to associate with me, people will not trust him. My father's blood has already tainted me; I will not let it ruin him, too."

"Won't you be lonely?"

"I've become accustomed to it."

This seemed to upset her. It was a small comfort that she was compassionate enough to care.

I laughed to myself. That enemies of my father had shown me more kindness and consideration than my father ever had found to spare for his son…it was comical, was that the word? Or, no, perhaps tragic?

"I feel compelled to tell you that were it up to me, this is not the way I would chose to handle recent events. But my father…" She shook her head apparently to prevent the rush of words teetering on the edge of her tongue. "He is an adept ruler, but the Varden has depended too much on the aid of the dwarves and Surda. He is in an uncomfortable bind of deferring to what they wish to prevent their quick anger." She gazed steadily at me. "I wish—"

I shook my head.

I had enough of wishes. When I younger, the flood of wishes had been endless. _I wish for a father, a mother, a brother. A home. Forgiveness. _If wishes were dragons, one day I would ride; I would take to the sky and never return to this scathing, unforgiving land.

She looked utterly anguished. I placed my hand on hers, folded neatly before her; I the prisoner, attempting to comfort her, the sovereign.

In the lull of silence, the door to my chamber opened. One of the guards entered, his eyes narrowing as he took in the intimate scene playing out before him.

Nasuada jumped up as I recoiled.

"Yes?" She asked brusquely.

"Your father is asking for you."

"Tell him I will rejoin him shortly."

He nodded and withdrew, still looking at me suspiciously.

"You ought not to tarry." I told her, examining my fingernails with absurd fascination. "There will be talk if you insist on visiting me like this. It would be best if you did not return." I was depriving myself of the only human comfort I had been afforded, but the thought of her being tarred by my brush was abhorrent.

"Would you prefer it that I left?" She asked hesitantly. She looked terribly hurt by my words.

Reluctantly, hating myself even as the words left my lips, I said, "I don't wish to take away any of your precious time, but you waste it on me." Halfheartedly, I added, "There are others who would benefit from your attentions, I am sure. Your company has brought me great solace. Thank you, Lady Nasuada."

Clearly, she understood I was dismissing her from my presence, but at the formality, she cringed.

"You do enjoy not your title?"

"It's more of a burden than a privilege. That is why a King's head is always bowed, the weight of his crown, though encrusted with diamonds, saps his strength."

Shortly thereafter, she departed without protest.

If my interminable solitude had been awful before, it was unbearable now. To have company and then not have it any longer made the hours drag on and on. I was going to go insane within the walls of my mind before they removed me from my stone prison.

Arguing voices interrupted me from my perpetual nothing to do had at least allowed me to catch up on not only all the sleep I had ever forsaken, but seemingly all the sleep _anyone_ had missed_ ever_.

There was a _thump_ as if a heavy body had been pushed aside to the ground and the door was unlocked and swung ajar.

Orik stumped in, looking very irritable indeed. "I am supposed to look upon you regularly, that your well being is maintained, but these _idiots_—" he said this quite loudly. "—insist on opposing me."

"No need to trouble yourself. Lady Nasuada already did so."

"_Nasuada_?" Orik repeated looking bewildered and alarmed. "But what was she doing here?"

"Looking in on me, I assumed," I said, hesitantly.

"But why would Ajihad send her to do that when I…? Why it's far too dangerous, he would never have allowed it—he did not even allow her to speak Morad when he first came until after the dwarf clans assured him of her safety." He continued to mutter to himself agitatedly.

I took in his puzzled, bearded countenance. Clearly, he had no idea of Nasuada's visits and Ajihad did not either.

"I must inform him," he said distractedly. He moved toward the door.

"Orik!" I called, my voice tense and urgent. "I need…" Shame filled me. Never had I needed to rely on someone else so entirely, but I had to ask. "I may go mad locked in here."

He glanced back at me, pity showing on his face. "I know that it was injustice to do this to you, but you know we cannot let you out for your safety as much as ours."

"I need something, anything to occupy myself," I pleaded.

"I will do my best to find something to suit your plight. I give you my word, I will not let you while away here, not under my watch."

-x-

To my surprise, Eragon came to visit me soon thereafter.

"How did…I mean I thought—" He sputtered as he entered my cell, he looked thoroughly shocked.

I grinned. "You thought I was stuck in some rat hole chewing on hardtack," I finished for him, rolling upright from where I lay lazily on my bed reading a scroll. "Actually, I expected the same thing, but Ajihad allows me all this as long as I don't cause trouble. And they bring me huge meals, as well as anything I want from the library. If I'm not careful, I'll turn into a fat scholar."

Orik had afforded me permission to request texts from the royal archives. The soldiers outside my room now delivered large scrolls and volumes along with my meals.

Galbatorix and Tornac had enriched my mind with an education fit for a prince. And now, I read about the history of Alagaësia from the Varden's point of view. Old war stories, famous Rider battles, power struggles among Kings, old alliances, the old Riders, the Forsworn, and, of course, my father.

It was less of a pleasure, and more of an adequate distraction.

Eragon laughed and sat next to me. "But you aren't angry? You're still a prisoner."

I shrugged as I rolled up the scroll and set it aside. "I was at first. But the more I thought about it, the more I came to realize that this is really the best place for me. Even if Ajihad were to give me my freedom, I would stay in my room most of the time anyway."

Eragon looked concerned. "But why?"

"You know well enough no one would be at ease around me, knowing my true identity, and there would always be people who wouldn't limit themselves to looks or words. But enough of that, I'm eager to know what's new. Come, tell me."

He told me excitedly of Angela, a witch; of being tested by the Twins; and of Arya's timely appearance. I noted the way he spoke of her, as though he were describing a beautiful dream. He was enamored with her.

"And to fight with her! Murtagh!" Eragon's eyes shone excitedly with the memory. "She is better than you or I could ever hope to be. Like quicksilver and twice as powerful."

I groaned enviously. I would have loved to spar with her, though I neglected to mention my shameful defeat at Nasuada's hands.

"You know," I leaned back, chewing on my lip speculatively. "I suspect that Arya is more important than either of us thought. Consider what you've learned: she is a master of the sword, powerful in magic, and, most significantly, was chosen to guard Saphira's egg. She cannot be ordinary, even among the elves."

Eragon pondered this, a troubled expression on his face. "Nasuada said that she visited you." He added suddenly. "Did she say anything interesting?"

That swooping sensation returned to the pit of my stomach. "No, she only wanted to meet me. Doesn't she look like a princess?" I asked him eagerly. "And the way she carries herself! I thought she was one of the great ladies of Galbatorix's court. I've seen earls and counts who had wives that, compared to her, were more fitted for life as swine than of nobility."

Embarrassed at my transparent outburst, I tried to control the emotion in my voice. I was relieved when he started on a different vein, apparently oblivious to what I had let slip.

"The Twins requested me to join the Du Vrangr Gata—it is a sect for magi and sorcerers of the Varden. But I don't think it wise. When they entered my mind, I sensed something wrong. It felt evil, decayed, not intact. I don't know what it was, but no matter how important Ajihad considers them, I don't trust them."

I smiled.

"After hearing your troubles, I find this imprisonment oddly peaceful. For once in my life I don't have to be afraid. I know I ought to be…yet something about this place puts me at ease. A good night's sleep helps, too."

Eragon was frowning as he listened to me. "How long are you going to remain imprisoned, Murtagh? You can't hide forever."

I shrugged carelessly. "For now I'm content to stay and rest. There's no reason for me to seek shelter elsewhere nor submit myself to the Twins' examination. No doubt I'll tire of this eventually, but for now, I am content."

He did not look pleased but he let the matter drop and continued to tell me of the days' events: "—And Ajihad pardoned the dwarf, of course, though I find the politics of the fight petty and contrived, and now—"

Something flickered into significance as he continued to speak. The dwarf, Orik, what was it he had said to me en route to my latest lodgings? A message from Ajihad. _'He is occupied at the moment dealing with the aftermath of Saphira's arrival and cannot meet you…'_

I bit my lip, thinking hard. '_He is occupied at the moment, dealing with the aftermath of Saphira's arrival'…_I watched Eragon speak as I tried to understand what had inflamed my suspicions. That was it: he had not said _Eragon's arrival., nor Saphira and Eragon's arrival._

"Murtagh?" Eragon prodded my arm, breaking me out of my thoughts. He had paused in his fantastic descriptions about the Dragon Keep where both Rider and Dragon were staying. "You look troubled."

"Be careful, Eragon. I would not be so trusting of anyone here, yet."

He looked dubious. "Murtagh, just because they had prejudices against you doesn't mean—"

"I am not being spiteful. There are several forces at play here. Ajihad, Hrothgar, the Twins—and many more, I'm sure—each extending their own sphere of influence. At the moment, the Varden can gain more from you than you them so they will try everything to keep you here. Just…be wary."

"What had led you to believe this?" He asked sharply.

"Just a stray observance," I admitted. "But don't think less of it. Seasoned courtiers will not give away their true intentions so openly. They will try to control you because you are a liability at the moment. But Saphira is what they want."

"They just want a Dragon, no matter who the Rider?"

"As an asset, you are extremely valuable. As an opponent, you are a danger, but not yet enough to worry them. If you seem fractious, they will try to remove you early on before you can gain an advantage. You are young, inexperienced, expendable—Saphira is not."

-x-

I was weak with hunger.

How long had it been since my last meal? _Seventeen, or eighteen hours?_ There was no way to tell the passage of time in here. The small window that provided me light was reflecting a setting sun, which indicated nothing to me.

I walked to the door and pressed my ear against it.

No movement, nothing. I could not even hear the guards outside my door engaged in petty conversation. In fact, there seemed to be no guard there.

I banged my fists against the door.

Still there was silence.

What had happened to cause even my watch to run off? Something momentous was happening outside, a battle perhaps? With the dwarves? _No, probably not_. Perhaps Galbatorix? Maybe word that the new Rider was allying with the Varden had reached him?

If so, I had to get out. Now. I could not wait here like an oblivious frog in a pot of boiling water waiting to be devoured, or worse, captured alive.

But if there really was a crisis unfolding outside, the last thing on anyone's mind would be to free me.

_Maybe Nasuada will remember me…_

Perhaps, but, according to what Orik had said, she was kept under strict watch and that security would probably be greater under the circumstances.

_So why did she come to see me?_

Clearly it was not on her father's orders. He had not even known, purportedly would not have let her come.

She had sat with me for hours, simply to speak to me. Rather trivial conversation, too. It wasn't even as though she had discovered some great secret of mine. She had showed me kindness and compassion. She had seemed to enjoy my company as much as I had, grudgingly, enjoyed her. And yet, she had sought me for some agenda.

_But why?_

_'You intrigue me.'_

The door opened, disrupting my puzzled thoughts.

Ajihad stood in the doorway.

-x-

He beckoned for me to follow him out of the cell. Completely nonplussed, I left my prison and followed him down a dizzying sequences of corridors and tunnels made more tortuous and unrecognizable by my lightheaded hunger.

"We are being seiged." He said, heavily. We had come to a stop before a chamber from within which I could hear a bustle of activity and motion.

"Who is it?"

"Urgals, the Kull who followed your party no doubt, have found a way into Tronjheim. They have discovered the tunnels underneath the city—ancient tunnels, long fallen into disrepair. We were lucky to receive any notice at all."

"Am I being released?" I asked hopefully.

"In a manner of speaking." Ajihad eyed my eager expression suspiciously. "My Nasuada, mollified by Eragon and Saphira's assurances, no doubt, thinks we ought to offer you a second chance."

_She _had_ remembered me._

"We are releasing you to fight among us in battle. Eragon spoke highly of your swordsmanship and I would foolish to begrudge my troops a worthy soldier."

"And Nasuada?" His eyes narrowed. "Will she be fighting, too?" It was a suspicious query, but I had to know.

"No…" He glared at me suspiciously. "All the women and children are being evacuated into the surrounding valleys. If we are defeated, they have guides who will take them to Surda. She is not pleased, but yes."

His eyes pierced mine, seeming to delve into my soul. Why did I want to know, he was wondering undoubtedly. If I was being terribly honest, I wasn't sure myself.

"Be warned, stranger, if your alliance proves to be adversarial, I have given orders that you are to be unceremoniously slain."

We locked eyes.

"Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

"If you have not eaten, do so, and arm yourself appropriately. Your weapons are with the quartermaster. Then prepare yourself for battle. The fight is likely to be a long and bloody one."

I grinned, baring my teeth. "I welcome it."

-x-

In the armory, I collected my weapons and surveyed the amassment of arms and armor. Over my head went a stiff shirt of leather-backed mail that fell to my knees. It rested heavily on my shoulders and clinked when I moved. On my head went a leather cap, then a chainmail coif, and finally an iron helm. Mail-backed gloves covered my hands and forearms.

The men around me being similarly adorned were ironfisted and grim-faced.

I picked up a shield and swung over my back. I belted my favored hand-and-a-half sword over my chainmail and slid a small dagger in my boot. I did not bother with my bow—there would be no time for that in close range combat.

The familiar rush of blood in anticipation of battle added energy to my movements.

Finally, almost delusional with hunger—at this point, it had been nearly a day since I'd eaten—I went into a small side kitchen and found myself a thick, meaty soup, bread, and some cheese.

Sated, I attempted to find my way onto the battlefield. One of the other soldiers gave me instructions to the battlefield, though very poor ones they turned out to be.

"Murtagh?"

I spun around.

Nasuada hurried toward my side from the other end of a long hallway, her skirts rustling quietly behind her. Across from the studded dagger on her waist, she was now carrying a half-and-half sword in a sheath at her hip.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, appalled. "Surely you are not going to fight?"

She scowled at me. "If I remember correctly, I defeated you."

"I was weak and wounded. But this is real, Nasuada. This is not some game that children play. Not like our silly skirmish. You will die out there. Or has no one told you that Kull are invading?"

"Someone must protect my father," She said mulishly.

I threw my hands in the air out of frustration. "Why did you not leave with the other women and children?!"

Her face darkened. "Do not belittle me, Murtagh. I have been trained in combat. I am not one of your helpless damsels to run away whenever there is danger."

"Why did you visit me?" I asked her abruptly.

She paused. "I told you, my father instructed me—"

"You are lying," I said quietly.

She did not ask how I found this out. Instead, she floundered for a moment, looking very discomfited, and then, almost shyly, she said, "I was curious to meet you. It is not every moon that the son of the most infamous of Forsworn falls into the lap of the Varden. You fascinate me."

"That fascination is quick to wane, others have expressed it before, but that doesn't explain why you returned, why you championed me to your father. It doesn't explain…" Uncertain, I didn't finish.

_Explain what? Her behavior? Her attentions? Her?_

"I did not lie to you before. I see startling similarities between us. We are both fighting long, hard, perhaps unwinnable battles. You, fighting to relinquish you name from the smear of your father's; I, trying to rescue mine from the fate of femininity."

"Is that all?"

She did not answer my question. Instead she said in a businesslike manner, "I should not be pleased if you were to fall in battle. So take care that you do not."

Very lightly, the tips of her fingers grazed mine. So briefly, tentatively, I could not even be sure it had happened, except, I was quite sure it had.

"Is that a royal command?"

She smiled briefly before the troubled expression returned. "Certainly. Punishable by death if you fail." Her voice was wound so tightly, a sob hidden in it. "I would, of course, fight alongside you and the rest of our troops. But apparently, it is not fit for a lady of my station to be engaged thusly. I have been delegated the sorry task of rerouting women and children if we are defeated."

"A lowly task indeed," I replied wryly.

"I would like if—" She stopped and began again. "If you would care to—" She seemed at a loss for words, and finally said, the words rushing from her mouth in a great torrent of sound: "I invite you to dine with me after the battle ends, if you care to accept?"

_Does she really believe I would refuse?_

"I would be honored to accept, though I am ashamed to admit that I have no clothes fit to wear in front of royalty."

"I think we may find you something suitable. You are the son of a Rider after all."

"The son of a _Forsworn_," I corrected her. And somehow, I found I did not mind, for I knew it did not matter between us.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Review! Do it! I dare you—no, I double-dog-dare you. Can't say no to that, huh?<strong>_


	13. Chapter 12, War

**_The Red Rider – the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN._**

_So the FAQ of the previous chapter was: HOW DAFFUQ COULD NASUADA BEAT MURTAGH? ISN'T HE EFFING AMAZING? Yes. Yes, he is. But, and this is a pretty big BUT, it seems ridiculous to me that Nasuada would not be very good with a sword. I mean, she's very clever and growing up watching Ajihad rule a group of rebels, she would strive to level every gender-unbalanced playing field to prepare herself and defend her father._

_Just to clarify: Nasuada is NOT a better swordsman—swordswoman?—than Murtagh. He was recovering and weakened from a serious injury that had threatened his life. On a good day, he would have sliced 'n diced her in a moment._

_Also, disclaimer: I suck at battle scenes. So if it's not up to my usual scratch, I sincerely apologize. I did my best :'(_

_Side note: I was writing this on the train and right behind me, there was this crazy man singing at the top of his lungs. He was terrible and totally unintelligible and I STILL managed to type this chapter out. :) Oh, and he wasn't just _bad_, he was tone-deaf like nobody's business. I'm fairly sure he was drunk/high out of his mind. He also started pole-dancing, which was horrifying. If this chapter is less commendable than usual, it's because I'm mentally scarred from the utterly gut-wrenching, migraine-inducing pain that was my hour long train ride. _:_:;

_Wow, the short AN trend really did not last. Enjoy!_

_xoxo —ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 12, War<em>

After reclaiming my horse, I found my way to the perimeter of Tronjheim. Three battalions were repositioning themselves in different parts of Farthen Dûr. Unsure of what to do, I meandered from regiment to regiment.

Even in such a large company of soldiers, it was relatively quiet. The men stood restlessly, their long hair flowing under their helms. Many warriors had only a sword and a shield, but there were several ranks of spear- and pikemen. In the rear, archers tested their bowstrings.

Dwarves wore burnished steel hauberks that hung to their knees, finished by fine mail, iron cap and brass-studded boots. They held stubby, round shields, stamped with various crests. Short swords were sheathed at their waists, while others carried mattocks or war axes.

They looked like rather bloodthirsty children putting on rather dramatic theatrics.

It wasn't difficult to find Saphira. Her shimmering blue scales glimmered against the gloom. She was wearing some sort of dragon armour. Thick plates covered the whole of her, and yet were somehow flexible enough for her lithe movements.

She was terrifying.

Saphira nudged Eragon as I approached them. He greeted me with an odd expression as though he were trying to smile and prevent himself from being sick at the same time.

I remembered he was not used to battle, not callous to the feeling of life draining out of a body beneath your sword. Had he even ever killed a man?

From behind him, Orik leapt up, his eyes flashing in shock. "Murtagh?"

"Ajihad released me," I told him calmly.

"Why would he do that?" demanded the man next to him. He was thin with wiry arms and hair that had gone silver too young.

"He said this was an opportunity to prove my good intentions. Apparently, he doesn't think I would be able to do much damage even if I did turn on the Varden."

Eragon caught my eye and smirked.

The thin man persisted. "How do we know you're not lying?"

"Because _I_ say so."

Ajihad strode into our midst, armed for battle with a breastplate and an ivory-handled sword. He stabbed the sword into the soft earth.

"Jörmundur, Orik, Eragon, come." They joined him and stood together, speaking in tense undertones.

Light from Farthen Dûr's opening waned as the sun crept below the crater's rim. A brooding silence replaced the quiet mumble of voices as the sun set. The crater grew black, except for the sanguine lantern glow and fires heating the pitch.

Finally Ajihad straightened, pulling his sword out of the ground and departed with the thin man—Jörmundur—and departed.

Eragon's face was pale and withdrawn. He had never battled on dragonback, and infrequently still on a horse. He turned to Saphira and the two of conversed wordlessly, presumably discussing maneuvers.

I stared into the gloom of the tunnel in front of us, searching for the flicker of movement that would announce that the Urgals were upon us.

And somewhere, in a tiny, forbidden corner of my mind, briefly, I thought of Nasuada. Was she safe with the others? Or had she snuck away somehow? Perhaps, in spite of all her father's precautions she was somewhere on this battlefield readying herself for war.

I shot a glance at Eragon. He was staring, looking troubled and wistful, at the elf, Arya, who had arrived, armed heavily.

Occasionally, messengers ran through the encampment, causing the arrayed troops to surge to their feet, but it always proved to be a false alarm.

As the night dragged on, the battlefield quieted, everywhere silent as death, muscles stiffened from the waiting and eyelids growing heavy. Time after time, I shook myself to alertness and tried to focus through my stupor.

"It's late. We should sleep," Orik grumbled. "If anything happens, the others will wake us."

With half a mind to protest, I saw Eragon slip to Saphira's side and drift off almost immediately. Hesitantly, I laid back on the ground.

The elf seated herself on his other side and watched him sleep.

I couldn't fathom his fascination with her. Certainly, she was...nice-looking. Her skin was fair, her hair shone silk-soft, and her eyes were sparkled like jewels. But everything about her spoke of arrogance and suspicion. There was something unnaturally still, cold, and removed about her face. She did not invite confidences or familiarity, or suffer fools gladly.

Swiftly, she glanced at me, eying me keenly, and I averted my eyes.

I drifted in and out of sleep.

Keening dragons and slashing swords beleaguered my dreams…men fell besides me and rose again, reanimated and greater more terrible than before. The cries of dying men filled my ears…Urgals rushed at me, swords slicing, disappearing into wafts of smoke as I reached them…and out of the smoke came Galbatorix. He merely laughed, _What happened to our dream, Murtagh? What happened? Murtagh? Murtagh!_

"Murtagh? Murtagh!" I woke with a start.

Arya stood over me. "It has begun," she said mournfully, gesturing at a panting dwarf who had clearly just run out of the tunnel.

I woke Eragon.

"Wuzzgoinon?" He asked, blearily, getting up.

"A scout ran out of a tunnel," I told him, mounting Tornac. "The Urgals are coming."

-x-

I watched the dark mouth of the tunnel through the sharpened stakes and assemblies of men before me. Minutes edged by, but I didn't dare look anywhere else. With every passing second, the warriors around me stiffened and everywhere grips tightened on weapons.

No one dared breathe.

The air was dead, motionless, suffused with strained anticipation.

Somewhere a horse nickered.

And then suddenly—yells shattered the air as dark shapes boiled upward at the tunnel's opening.

Instantly, at a shouted command, cauldrons of pitch were tilted on the sides, pouring scalding liquid tar into the throat of the tunnel.

The Urgals howled in pain, arms flailing. A torch was thrown onto the bubbling pits, and a cloud of greasy flames erupted up in the opening, engulfing the Urgals in an inferno, choking the tunnel mouth with bodies.

But several minutes later, more Urgals clambered over their gently smoldering comrades and flooded out of the tunnel. They clumped together, presenting a solid wall to the men and dwarves. The opposing army formed a solid mass of bodies that seemed to stretch endlessly.

Behind the palisades, the first row of archers pulled on their bows and fired.

The Urgal line wavered, but they covered themselves with their shields and weathered the attack. Again the archers fired, but the Urgals continued to stream onto the surface at a ferocious rate.

There were no imperial troops among them.

Baleful notes echoed through Farthen Dûr as war horns sounded and with savage cries, the entire group of Urgals charged.

They dashed themselves against the rows of stakes, covering them with blood as the ranks at the vanguard were crushed against the posts. The Urgals surged forward again where a line of pikemen jabbed frantically at their ranks, trying to repel them. The frontline held briefly, but the tide of Urgals did not slow.

A cloud of black arrows flew over the impasse at the Varden troops. I ducked behind my shield, hearing the rattle as arrows dashed it harmlessly.

The first lines of defense breached, the main bodies of the two forces collided for the first time. A deafening roar burst from the men and dwarves as they rushed into the conflict.

I charged forward on Tornac in the fray, catching an Urgal in the neck. He gagged and fell to the ground. I wrestled his shield, which was much bigger than my own, from him and continued my siege. I sidestepped a flung pike and, howling gleefully, struck two-handed at the next foe.

The assault was bitter, the battlefield a whirlwind of noise and action.

Three Urgals surrounded me. I sidestepped a jab as one engaged me. I darted from one to the next, knocking aside their pikes and jabbing my sword quickly from vulnerability to vulnerability.

An Urgal, his face contorted in a terrible glee, grasped his sword with both hands and swung it over his head toward me. Left and right, I parried sword thrusts, against newer opponents, waiting for the banter to end before finding an opening to send him to the ground.

I did not need to think—it all came naturally—flinging myself in the opposite direction, rolling once, and came up into a crouch.

Saphira was a sight to see. She was deadly from any angle—her terrible teeth wreaked as much damage among the Urgal forces as her tail, swiping across the battlefield. Her talons glinted with blood from the torn bodies of our enemies.

Beside me Orik, leapt forward with a shrieking, roaring battle cry, hewing Urgal necks with mighty blows of his axe.

On my other side, Arya seemed to leap past the lifeless body of an opponent, sent aloft with clean, powerful slices of her thin sword. The elf was glorious in action, a perfect blend of control and untamed violence. She pounced like a cat, struck like a heron, and bobbed and wove with the grace of a weasel.

Eragon had been lucky to spar with her.

The metallic scent of blood clogged the air, and curtains of smoke from the oil-fires wafted over the crowd of fighters, alternately concealing and revealing the knots, clumps, ranks, and battalions of thrashing bodies.

Over the din, I heard Eragon cry out. He looked mad. He swung off his steed with a wild cry and stabbed the nearest Urgal through the chest, withholding nothing in his frenzied attempt to help Saphira whose wings had been pierced by swords and a few arrows.

He was quickly surrounded by a pack of sneering Urgals. I dashed into the fray, seized him by his tunic, and pulled him onto Tornac. We sat back-to-back lunging at foe after foe. I slashed my blade horizontally, to deflect an oncoming blow, scrambling back. On the rebound, I spun my sword round and knocked aside an Urgal's falchion less than an inch from my horse.

Saphira had regained ground near us and he climbed on to her back.

An Urgal lunged toward me, attempting to cleave me from collarbone to hip, but I twisted past the blow. Jamming the end of the swordpoint upward, I drove it underneath its chin and into his throat. No sooner had my sword slid out of the body that I was forced to duck and parry a blow to the head from another.

I twisted in the saddle, searching for my next opponent. My muscles vibrated with vibrant exhilaration.

I felt invincible, invulnerable.

I raised my sword hand, and charged into another knot of Urgals.

-x-

Hours of fighting had exhausted me.

My swordsmanship was becoming sloppy and miscalculated.

I had suffered several deep cuts as well as a uniform bruising all over my body. An Urgal had struck me across the face so hard with a mace that my helm had smashed into my forehead, cutting me so that I was forced to wipe the blood from my eyes continuously.

What the Urgals lacked in agility, they made doubly in strength—and number. For every monster killed, another ceaselessly stepped forth to take his place.

Hopelessness enveloped me as the Urgals forced the Varden forces to retreat—slowly and grudgingly, yes, but inexorably—toward Tronjheim. Glancing around, I could see my despair mirrored in the faces of Eragon, Arya, and Orik.

I lunged at a giant Kull nearly out of reach and almost fell from Tornac's saddle, having miscalculated my swing. But before I could recover, the Kull darted forward and swung his sword. The brunt of his blow caught me on the side of my helm, throwing me backward off Tornac on to the ground.

My ears rang, my vision flickered—the world spun.

The Kull was drawing back for another, this time deadly, blow. His arm descended—his head toppled off his body. The towering corpse crumpled and Orik straight and yanked his axe from the Kull's neck.

I gave him a quick look of thanks before throwing myself back upon Tornac and continuing on.

The constant stem of Urgals never slowed, never ceased, never tired. In the midst of it, Saphira unfurled her wings, sending all in her proximity—friend and foe—ducking for cover or thrown into the air. She took off, Eragon and Arya atop her.

The Varden soldiers watched them go, seeming lost.

An Urgal rushed at me, swinging his sword, which embedded itself into my shield with a dull _thunk._ As he attempted to pull it loose, I retaliated with a stroke of my sword, cutting him loose armless. He howled, enraged, and came at me, blocking my swings with his shield.

Pivoting on one foot, I lunged forward and with my blade impaled my attacker in a knee, drawing blood. He stumbled back, swinging his shied wildly between so that my next blow landed squarely on it. Plumes of sparks erupted from the surface of the shield as my blade glanced off its surface.

But my momentum carried me further than I had intended, sending me careening in the Urgal uncontrollably. Having no weapon but a shield, he bent my wrist back so that I had to drop my sword and wresting my body, attempting to slip his arm against my neck.

We squirmed back and forth, trying to find purchase, until he dropped his shield and fastened his remaining forearm against my throat so I choked for breath. He pressed harder and harder as I fought to free myself, my hands reaching, straining…

My fingers, slippery with blood and sweat found my dagger and heaved my arm back against where I though his chest might be, relief flooding through me as I felt skin and muscle give way to metal and his grip loosened and he fall back onto the ground, my dagger protruding from his breast—and a feathered arrow protruding from his neck.

I glanced back at the far line of Varden archers all of whom were taking aim at various tussles, taking care not to shoot their fellow soldiers. I glanced at each person, miniscule in the vast distance between us.

One of the archers seemed to have been aiming directly at me. The archer was rather thin for a man. That there, that could be long hair tucked into a bind. But all of them were dressed in black leather tunics and pants. There was no way to tell.

"Where is Eragon?" I shouted to Orik who was battling a Kull several feet away.

"He…is…defending…Hrothgar," he shot back as he neatly decapitated his foe and turned away to fight another.

As I too hurried forward, I caught sight of a woman up ahead in the fray: she wore a long red cape, flanged armor enameled black and green. She bore a two-handed weapon—a long wooden shaft with a sword blade attached to each end, which she playfully spun like a dervish.

Close behind her was a young shaggy-haired boy. He held a small black dagger, sharp teeth bared in a feral snarl.

_Bizarre. _But if this woman was fighting…_could Nasuada be somewhere in this affray as well?_ The thought curdled my blood.

A Kull charged at me, head lowered, horns painted with gore, brandishing his sword. He whipped his sword back and forth as we fought. Each shuddering blow weakened me, until he brought his sword two-handed across mine and in the explosion of red sparks that followed, I fell.

I was exhausted—we were all drained and yet I pushed myself to fight on. But I was making more and more mistakes. My defenses were slowing and my attacks were downright slothful.

He brought his sword over his head and in the apex of his swing, a most peculiar expression came across his face. He lowered his sword and turned his gaze heavenward—

Around us, I was aware of movement ceasing. All of the Urgals had stopped fighting and were watching the dark sky.

The Varden's forces, too, had paused and were cautiously watching their opponents.

Suddenly, a brilliant shower of lights floated across the sky, turning from blue to red to green and swallowed up by the inky darkness of the dwarf tunnels, the embers still wildly changing colors.

The Kull in front of me blinked rapidly and peered owlishly at me, as though really seeing me for the first time having woken up from a long sleep.

I raised my sword cautiously.

But he turned away and made a run for the tunnel the way the sparks had gone. Following him was a mass exodus of Urgals, all jostling and shoving each other out of the way in an effort to find the exit.

Recovering rather quickly from this pleasant surprise, I exchanged bewildered glances with Orik.

"What do you reckon?" I asked Orik in an undertone.

"Those were spirits in the sky," he said solemnly. "They must have been controlling the Urgals. How I know not. Urgals are not meant to congregate like this. Something, _someone _was forcing them to collude and fight us.

Within minutes, all of the Urgals had fallen into utter confusion. Many were still fighting the Varden, or fighting amongst themselves, but most were attempting to flee.

The lead cavalryman wearing an insignia of the dwarves and armor the color of a general gave terse instructions for us to pursue the Urgals until they fled the tunnels entirely. We pursued them, riding deep in to the heart of a tunnel alongside several more cavalrymen, Orik beside me.

We turned a corner in the tunnel and almost trod upon a group of Urgals. They reared up, apparently having been lying in wait, or perhaps seeking a respite. But this battle was far different, there was no united effort among them to defeat us, no complicity of strategy, making it far easier to dispatch of them.

I was fighting an especially ugly Urgal with skin like a hog's hide. He must have weighed as much as a few bulls and was swinging his spiked mace with a violent desperation. I retreated a few steps—there was nothing so much as dangerous as a cornered animal, ready to lash out regardless of the odds in a final, desperate attempt at vindication.

Our weapons met in a burst of blue-white sparks that singed my hands. Without a moment's hesitation, I shoved my opponent backward and started a complex series of blows, stabbing, parrying, forcing him to retreat.

With a tremendous swing, he knocked his blade against mine so that I was sent careening into the side of the tunnel. Stunned, I looked up, shaking my head, trying to regain my bearings.

I glanced up at the Urgal in time to see the head of a spiked mace vault through the air toward my face.

_Ouch._

-x-

Someone was dabbing my forehead.

Something wet was being applied to my face and in its wake, there was an awful burning, prickling sensation taking over.

I was somewhere between the throes of unconsciousness, sleep, and wakefulness until a particularly painful twinge woke me entirely.

My eyes flashed open.

"Oh, it's you."

It was that peculiar red-cloaked woman I had seen on the battlefield. The shaggy-haired boy was nowhere to be seen.

The woman frowned rather dramatically. "Yes, it's only poor old me. Were you expecting a party?"

She was holding a scrap of damp cloth in one hand and a tiny urn in the other. The urn was filled with a slightly green, foul-smelling ointment.

"Who are you?" I asked bluntly.

"Angela." She said simply. "And you are Murtagh!" I did not ask her how she knew this, but she did not say it vindictively, but rather though as though she was pointing out a fact, and a trivial one at that.

I sat up and a pounding in my head that I had not previously noticed attacked my temples viciously. My movements were all slow, as though I was moving through honey.

"Now, watch it you. I've toiled for all you sickos for hours, and for what? For you to swagger around and crack your head open on the next Urgal? No. You sit." She pointed sternly at the bed I was lying in. "_Stay_."

I rather resented being treated like a naughty dog, but as any movement made the pounding in my head worse, I was content to lay about, for the meantime anyway.

"In any case, you can't just get up and walk around. If you stood up for more than a moment, you would fall down. I gave you a good strong dose of a soporific. You were fevered earlier, awake and dreaming all at once. Said quite a bit, too, but you would have hurt yourself. I had to restrain you."

There was a flicker of movement by my feet. For the first time, I noticed the largest cat I'd ever seen snoozing lazily in a chair next to her, although, it did not look like any cat I had ever seen.

It was roughly the size of a small tiger. It had a lean body with powerful shoulders and oversized paws. Its angular face with black-tipped ears, was surrounded by a thick, shaggy mane…As I watched, its eyelids flickered open to reveal a pair of blood-red irises and yawned, showing curved white fangs that reached down the length of its jaw.

A werecat.

It inspected me with shrewd eyes, then, meowing mournfully, jumped up onto my legs and settled there, watching me with a baleful, haughty expression. Its tail swished playfully in front of me, fur wispy and feathery, like an arrow's fletching.

I thought back to the battle. Had Nasuada been among the archers? Or had the archer just been very timely and I very, _very_ lucky? More importantly, was she alive?

I voiced these concerns to Angela: "Is the battle continued? Why did the Urgals disband? Where is Ajihad?"

"So many questions!" She said brusquely, brushing brown coils of hair from her face. "The Urgals are being ferreted out of the tunnels, but yes, most are gone. The battle is over. As for Ajihad, he is with Nasuada."

Her eyes caught mine and she smiled knowingly.

Feeling very uncomfortable, I turned away from her, reaching out to pet the werecat. "How many are dead?"

Her face darkened. "There are many dead. The mourning and wakes will likely last until next morn. Many more will likely die to injuries. I have power, yes, but there are many wounded. In any case, I must ensure Eragon will return to full health first and foremost."

"How is Eragon?" I asked, glancing around. He was not in the ward with me.

"Eragon is still alive." She said tersely.

_Still alive? But that makes it sound as though…as though Eragon was hovering somewhere between life and death, as though there was a chance he might…die.  
><em>

The werecat was sitting upright, watching me with his unsettling eyes red as jaspers looking supremely unconcerned as he licked his front paw.

_He will not die._

A disembodied alien voice reverberated in my mind and, panicking, I struggled to seal my mind from intrusion, but my mind moved with a hideous sloth, like the slow drip of honey from a comb.

_Resistance is futile, son of misery. The drug you have imbibed will prove to deter you from your mind._

"Why did you give me this drug, witch?" I asked, irritated.

_Stop your whinging, _said the werecat smoothly. _I feel compelled to warn you that the road you have chosen will not be easy, but if you stay the course, there is redemption. And to remember that though two seem far safer than one, in the end, two beget none._

_Two beget none? _I had never excelled with figures, but even these simple sums eluded me. _W__ho are you?_

_I have many names, many of which mean nothing to humans, and one of which is none of your concern. In any case, you may know me as Solembum._

_Redemption for what?_

_Who knows? _With that, he jumped off my bed and scurried away.

Angela had been watching us. "It is a great honor that he spoke to you at all, you know."

"Perhaps," I replied, feeling rather surly about it all. "But I might have preferred no warning at all for all the good it did."

"Ah, well. Better to know than to live on in ignorant bliss."

_Is it?_

As she spoke, she pulled a small sack out of a pocket in her dress. She emptied the contents of the leather pouch onto the bedcloth. The pouch had contained several smooth bones, each slightly longer than a finger. Runes and symbols were inscribed along their sides.

"These," she said, touching them gently, "are the knucklebones of a dragon. Unlike tea leaves, crystal balls, or divining cards, these have true prescient powers. Shall I tell you what your future holds?"

I grimaced. "I feel you will proceed no matter what I say as I am at your mercy this minute."

She grinned. "Solembum may have been rude, but the fact that he spoke to you makes you special. I offered to do this for the others he deigned to speak to. You may regret it, as the woman did. Ah, her fortune was bleak and painful. Poor Selena."

_Selena?_ My heart seemed to stop in my chest. _Could that be my mother? Was this why she had abandoned me? _I found that I couldn't speak, desperate longing closing my throat, so I gestured for her to proceed.

Angela's face became grave as she grasped the bones in each hand. Her eyes closed, and her lips moved in a soundless murmur. Then she said, her voice guttural and intoning, "_Manin_! _Wyrda_! _Hugin_!" and tossed the bones onto the cloth.

They fell all jumbled together, gleaming in the faint light.

Angela pointed to one of the bones. The symbol on the bone was a lemniscate.

"Infinity or long life," she explained. "Many years lie ahead of you thought you will note there is no mention of whether your time will be pleasant or painful." Angela touched two other bones jumbled together. "The significance is more difficult to glean. Here: a chain and vulture—your life is not your own. Something horrible casts you in its shadow and exert its influence over you."

_Excellent._

"But here—the tree of Elder. Great power will find you. Perhaps this is your chain, and perhaps not." She approached the other half of the scattered bones. "Here now is the lightning bolt and the egg. It is a terrible omen. There is a doom upon you and part of it lies in a birth that will cause you much grief."

"Is there any good news?" I asked, agitated.

She did not meet my eyes as she gestured to two more bones that touched. "Perhaps. A rose and a scythe. These are the closest to you—perhaps you are embroiled in this romance already. But the scythe indicates that it is short-lived, blighted by the vulture that stands over it here." She pointed back to the vulture. "Its outcome is success, but perhaps not the way you expect. Your love is of noble birth."

In spite of myself, I blushed.

"And last, the blade, the hawthorn root, and the crucible—a vendetta is arising and it will come from within your family. Trials and suffering, no doubt, but ultimate success and a renaissance of life."

"I have no family." I said.

She shrugged. "The bones do not lie. But their meaning may be convoluted. Now the hawthorn root⸺"

"Stop, I beg of you," I told her earnestly. "I have long suspected that my life would not be an idyllic one, but I cannot bear to have the horrors in my future spelled out so irrefutably to me. At least, in ignorance, my life will still be my own."

She covered the bones with her hand, shielding me from my fate. "Nothing is inevitable. Remember that."

The door to the infirmary spun ajar and Nasuada marched in. She was wearing a thick black tunic, identical to the uniform of the archers. Her face brightened when she saw me, or perhaps, I simply wanted it to.

"You seem to spend more days in the infirmary than out of it. I'm beginning to think you're using this as an excuse not to challenge me to a rematch."

"You fought in the battle!" I accused her.

She scowled. "You sound like my father. I was only among the ranks of the archers, there was no danger. I am not a child nor a coward to hide in my mother's skirts when there was a battle afoot. And you, along with my father, would do well to remember that."

She looked so formidable, righteous anger blazing across her features that I did not question her further.

"Is he well?" She asked Angela of me.

"Well enough. He is still weak and should not over exert himself. But if you can bear to stand, you are free to go."

Nasuada grasped my forearm and helped me stand gingerly. I winced, bruises, cuts, and sores all over my body groaning under my weight and slowly shuffled out, the soporific's effects still washing over me, leaving me feeling as though I'd drunk my weight's equivalent of mead.

As we left, Solembum crossed my path. He locked eyes with me. _Listen closely, boy._

_Beware son of misery, time hangs by a thread.  
><em>_The hunter is hunted, white water turns red._

_The war has been declared.  
><em>_A secret plot is hatching.  
><em>_The night will be ensnared._

_In the naming is the catching,  
><em>_Something rises from the womb,  
><em>_To make the land a tomb._

_Break the hold or die forever.  
><em>_It is now or it is never.  
><em>_Human, elf, dwarf, Urgal set aside  
><em>_The hatreds that reside inside._

_If the flames of war are fanned,  
><em>_All will lose life and the land._

_Die the girl, die his heart,  
><em>_Die the most essential part.  
><em>_Die the peace that rules the hour,  
><em>_The King will lose the key to his power._

_To the son, give the blade.  
><em>_By his hand, fate is made._

_Remember where mother's blood spilled  
><em>_And from within find the will._

_He who sleeps must decide the fate of scales fought.  
><em>_The last to die, blade of black, bid him to see what be not._

With an enigmatic smile, he jumped off my cot and padded away.

-x-

Head spinning, I followed Nasuada outside. But as she smiled at me, Solembum's words faded from my mind. We settled into a comfortable silence, walking aimlessly from passageway to deserted passageway.

"I owe you my life," I said finally.

She shrugged wordlessly. "You held your own quite well."

"I did as you ordered," I said with a smile.

Ever so gently, she grasped my hand with her, linking our fingers together, perhaps our lives as well.

At that moment, Jörmundur appeared around the corner. He walked swiftly with wide strides, a broadsword clasped in his hand.

Nasuada jumped away from me.

He paused as he passed us. "You fought well, Murtagh. I hope you consider my regret that I ever considered you anything but an ally." He turned to Nasuada. "I heard you were among the archers' ranks."

"I was," she said stoutly.

"Then, as is my duty, I must chastise you for placing yourself in such danger. If you were killed, as Ajihad's only heir, you placed the future of the Varden in danger through your obstinacy and recklessness. And yet⸺" His eyes twinkled. "⸺I could not be more proud of you than if you were my own daughter, child."

We waited until he had passed to speak.

"You are embarrassed of being seen with me." It was not a question.

"No!" She said quickly. "It's not that…it's just that—I-I don't…It's not only about me, Murtagh," she sighed. "I, inadvertently and unwilling, represent my father. He and everyone else of name has been assured of your alliance, but they will not understand. They will see me as a fool, a naïve girl that was seduced into a dalliance that is neither honorable nor acceptable in their eyes."

"Is that how you see me, as an ignominious degenerate?"

"No," she insisted. "Certainly, no."

"Then, pray tell me. What do you want with me? Why do you continue to toy with me when, as you say, we are doomed?"

Because, quintessentially, we were—apart from the son of a Forsworn and the daughter of a sovereign—a man and a woman. _Why must you taunt me so?_

She spoke so softly, as if in fear of rebuke, that her next words were barely audible: "You know why."

Tenderly, hesitantly, I pressed my lips to hers.

And for the first time, I did.

-x-

Arya and I exchanged anxious glances.

Angela had been occupied with Eragon for hours, with no word to Saphira or any of us on the status of his health. The three of us were waiting outside his room, Saphira rather squashed in the small space.

The pregnant silence of the corridor seemed interminable.

"You fought well," I said uncomfortably to Arya.

Her eyes flashed as she surveyed me. "Thank you."

"Eragon spoke highly of your swordsmanship. I must confess I was curious to see if his characterization was accurate."

She did not smile, but her expression unfroze and the mask of careful detachment melted ever so slightly to show some amusement.

"If you would agree, I would be honored if you would concede to battle me. I have studied swordsmanship all my life and have great appreciation for the art," I added.

"Perhaps after the dust settles. After this unexpected victory, some revelry is in order." She said agreeably. She was silent for a moment and then— "Now _I_ must confess that when I heard of your parentage I was troubled by Eragon's view of you, certain that you had hoodwinked him somehow; but I see now that Eragon's judgment was sound. I fought your father on an occasion and I am relieved to find but vestiges of him within you. I find it wondrous still that you grew to be the untroubled youth you are now and even more astounded that you managed to stay alive. And even now, my heart goes out to you. You who have faced untold troubles, just to prove that you are not your father, which truthfully, every child claims—how could I doubt it when I have proclaimed the same?"

_Yet._

I didn't know what to say to this grand declaration. Long had I waited for this day, when everyone would apologize and grovel before me for judging me prematurely by my father. Now that it had arrived, I wasn't sure if I wanted to accept the apologies. It didn't seem to do justice to the pain and suffering I had endured.

Even if I hadn't proved to be useful to them, they should have extended a hand of friendship. It seemed the Varden did not suffer allies gladly. _No wonder the resistance is waning._

Finally—_thankfully_—the door was thrown up and Angela beckoned us inside. Arya and I filed inside; Saphira snaked her head into the room after us, her body too big to fit through the doorway.

Eragon smiled weakly at us. He sat up, propped upright by cushions.

"About time you were up. We've been sitting in the hall for hours." I grinned, grasping his hand in a comradely fashion.

"What…what happened?" asked Eragon slowly, as though his tongue was too thick in his mouth to form words properly. I surmised that Angela had given him some of the soporific as well.

Arya merely sighed.

"We won! It was incredible!" I crowed gleefully. "When the Shade's spirits—if that's what they were—flew across Farthen Dûr, the Urgals ceased fighting to watch them go. It was as though they were released from a spell then, because their clans suddenly turned and attacked each other. Their entire army disintegrated within minutes. We routed them after that!"

"They're all dead?" Eragon asked.

I shook my head. "No, many of them escaped into the tunnels. The Varden and dwarves are busy ferreting them out right now, but it's going to take a while. I was helping until an Urgal banged me on the head and I was sent back here," I added ruefully.

"They aren't going to lock you up again?"

"No one really cares about that right now." I said soberly. "A lot of the Varden and dwarves were killed; the survivors are busy trying to recover from the battle. But _you_ have cause to be happy. You're a _hero_! Everyone's talking about how you killed Durza. If it hadn't been for you, we would have lost."

He didn't look remotely pleased. On the contrary, Eragon looked rather beleaguered. "Where were the Twins? They weren't where they were supposed to be—I couldn't contact them. I needed their help."

I shrugged. "I was told they bravely fought off a group of Urgals that broke into Tronjheim somewhere else. They were probably too busy to talk with you."

He didn't seem satisfied with this explanation, but he looked at Arya. "Why did you not crash? You and Saphira were…" His voice trailed off.

"When you warned Saphira of Durza, I was still trying to remove her damaged armor. By the time it was off, it was too late to slide down Vol Turin. You would have been captured before I reached the bottom. And Durza would have killed you before letting me rescue you. So I did the one thing I could to distract him: I broke the star sapphire," She said woefully.

"But why didn't any of the pieces hit you or me?"

"I didn't allow them to." She said quietly. "When we were almost to the floor, I held them motionless in the air, then slowly lowered them to the floor, else they would have shattered into a thousand pieces and killed you." She spoke as calmly as though she had done nothing more sensational than water a flower.

"Yes, and it almost killed you as well. It's taken all of my skill to keep the two of you alive." Angela snapped petulantly.

His eyes flashed and tremulously. "How long have I been here?" Eragon asked.

"Only a day and a half," answered Angela. "You're lucky I was around. It would've taken you weeks to heal otherwise—if you had even lived."

He sat up, pushing the blankets and twisted around to feel his back.

"Eragon." Angela caught his wrist. "Eragon, you must understand that my power is not like yours. It depends on herbs and potions. There are limits to what I can do, especially with such a large—"

He yanked his hand out of her grip and reached back, fingers groping. As he moved, he shifted toward us, revealing a long, mottled scar about an inch wide stretching from his right shoulder to the opposite hip.

_No good deed goes unpunished._

"You have paid a terrible price for your deed, Eragon Shadeslayer." Arya's normally icy eyes were soft with pity.

I laughed mirthlessly. "Yes. Now you're just like me."

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><p><strong><em>You better review! You better!...pretty please? :)<em>  
><strong>


	14. Chapter 13, Taken

**_The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN._**

_Okay. It is frickin' hard to write a prophecy so I hope you all enjoyed that. It looks easy, right? Just find some words that rhyme. NOT easy. If any of you have read _The Underland Chronicles _by the amazing Suzanne Collins,_ _you understand where I got the inspiration for my prophecy. BTW, those books are awesome so totally check them out._

_I saw _The Departed _last night and I feel like LDC's character in that movie is everything I feel about Murtagh, even though their situations are not at all congruous. But just that desperate, furious, immolating need for redemption and truth is electrifying. I guess what I'm saying is that, the movie is amazing and has a wonderful, though bloody and vengeful, poetry to it that I think the _Inheritance_ series lacked, but I think Murtagh's character had the potential to convey. Also, how awesome was Mark Wahlberg?_

_Oh and I'm sorry I haven't been updating as often as before. A little thing called life happened and also, I've been dealing a tiny issue called attempting-to-finish-my-degree. Also, the fam and I went to Disneyworld and Miami beach for a week for vacay so I had no internet then. __So to make up for my being irresponsible and awful: _if you review, you get cookies! No jokes, I'm totally serious!__

_xoxo —ei_

**_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._**

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><p><em>Chapter 13, Taken<em>

A soldier entered the ward behind us. He surveyed the scene before him—an elf, a dragon, a bedraggled man, and a witch crowded around the bedside of a weak-looking Eragon—with some alarm.

"Do you require assistance, Shadeslayer?" He asked.

"No, what is it you need?" Eragon asked, a steady blush coloring his cheeks.

"Shadeslayer? That's a new one." I muttered under my breath.

Eragon merely elbowed me in the ribs.

"I have a message for Murtagh Morzansson." The soldier's eyes slid from face to face until he found mine, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Your presence is requested in the banquet hall."

"By who?" I asked curiously.

"Her graciousness, Lady Nasuada."

The others looked at me, surprise on their faces. I could feel my own growing hot, probably flushed, under the scrutiny.

"Are you to take me there now?"

"Certainly."

"Then, I will find you later, Eragon." I hid my eagerness with difficulty, and took their leave.

The man led me up several hallways. I was starting to distinguish the routes now. Perhaps, I would be able to carve out a living here for myself after all.

We turned a corner and stumbled into the Twins. They shook themselves off with a cutting look of disgust at the soldier and then they looked to me. For a moment, their faces were blank, and then brilliant smiles spread over their faces, like twin suns rising over the horizon.

"Halt." The first Twin said. "We require Murtagh's services."

"For what?" I asked unhappily.

"Ajihad requires aid in clearing the tunnels below of Urgal vermin." The second Twin said. "Eragon is indisposed and we were informed that you are an excellent swordsman. I suppose you will make do."

"I'm afraid my presence is requested elsewhere. Lady Nasuada requested me to—"

"Lady Nasuada is confined to her chambers for disobeying her father's orders. She has no need for your assistance, said the first Twin smoothly, interrupting me.

"I beg your pardon," the soldier interjected. "But Lady Nasuada has just dispatched me to bring Murtagh to her."

The second Twin glared at him. "Are you contradicting us?" He blustered.

The soldier faltered. "No, sir, but she—"

"You are dismissed," the first Twin told him. "Murtagh, follow us."

They lead me back down to the battlefield after I collected my sword, but instead they directed me to one of the side tunnels. Several men stood there talking quietly. In their midst stood Ajihad.

Around me, the twisted and hacked bodies of Urgals were being carted away to be burned while women removed their loved ones from the bloody grounds of Farthen Dûr. Soot from the funeral pyres covered everything.

Their keening cries of grief filled my ears.

If I had died, would Nasuada cry for me? Would she ensure I had a proper burial? Perhaps. In any case, I knew Eragon would see it carried out.

All around me was nothing but the uncomfortable presence of death and the stench of decay, but I was numb to it. I had seen far worse. There was no glory in war, though there was little more glorious than a good battle.

"Ah, Murtagh!" Ajihad gestured for me to join the consensus. "I am glad you were found. It gives me great comfort to have you by my side. We are planning a siege of the tunnels, to clear out any Urgals that have remained behind. Egraz Carn will come behind us and Egraz Heim will lead the way."

He continued to wax martial about certain ploys they might use to tease out any lurking Urgals. I glanced away, at the each of the others surrounding him as he continued to speak.

The soldiers were grimy and covered in dirt and blood. They had no respite from the battle. Off to one side, the Twins were conversing mutely, their language a swift exchange of expressions and a series of looks to Ajihad and myself that seemed increasingly leery.

Loyal subjects of the Varden or not, I did not trust them.

"Alright, men!" Ajihad clapped his hands. "Follow me."

Upon his black brow, I saw a sheen of sweat. He had no respite either. This should have worried me for a weary general was generally quick to make costly mistakes, but it endeared me that he placed himself under the same ardor he expected from his men.

Without hesitation, I followed him into the tunnel, letting the darkness swallow me whole.

-x-

Three days.

For three days, we had been scouring the tunnels for Urgals. We had found a few, but they had not put up much of a fight, choosing to run after only a few minutes of combat.

But we were exhausted from having no respite, irritable from sleeping in the cramped tunnels, and uneasy because at any moment we might come upon another group of more intractable foes.

But now finally, Ajihad had permitted us to return to Farthen Dûr. Having found no more Urgals in the last twelve hours, we assumed they had all escaped or been ferretted out and breathed a sigh of relief.

In our crowded, squalid quarters, I had grown quite familiar with the other soldiers of whom there was an even dozen—humans and dwarves alike. They were a jolly sort, quick to laughter and quicker still to forgiveness. One I became especially well acquainted with was called Evandar.

The others were several years older and did not mix with us in conversation. Where we spoke of women, wine, and war, they spoke wearily to Ajihad of age and avenging anger.

He matched me in years though he was rather bloodthirsty for their age, speaking excitedly of how it felt to behead an Urgal, how he wished to face Galbatorix, tear him to pieces and drink his blood to appease his anger and humiliation at living his life like some half-squashed bug under a stone.

But it did not seem unusual for the others to hear this sort of language. Everyone, under the façade of bravado and unending enthusiasm for the resistance, was growing tired and increasingly bitter. Ajihad, I surmised, was not ignorant of the festering resentment, but he did not how to fix them.

"Let us stop here," Ajihad called back to the group. "We shall eat and rest and then make haste back the city."

We dropped where we stood like flies, exhausted to the point of collapsing. Bread, cheese, and thin slices of meat were passed around. I threw mine away, as it smelled of rot.

"So, Ajihad, do you think Nasuada is running the state well in your absence?" One of the older men asked, his tone jeering.

The others laughed lightly.

Apparently, this was an old joke, but Ajihad's visage darkened, his body tensing like a drawn bowstring. "I hope, for her sake, Jörmundur has assumed control," he murmured. His face contorted with an ugly scowl and others did not say another word after that.

"She is something, is she not?" Evander whispered to me. "Nasuada."

"I suppose," I said tersely.

"I am surprised that Ajihad has not yet married her off, but knowing, Nasuada, she has refused no end of suitors. My cousin, a soldier, proposed marriage to her, but she rebuked him."

"Is Ajihad looking for a match for her?" I asked, with difficulty. The words seemed to stick in throat.

"Of course. She is already seven and ten years. No respectable woman should make it to nine without an engagement. But then, Nasuada has never been quite what you should call normal, nor respectable."

"What does that mean?" I asked sharply.

Why did this talk bother me so much? I fancied her, but nothing more. There was no future for us, she knew that as did I. Then why did my blood boil in fury and my hands curl into fists?

"Ajihad brought her up as much as he would have a son. She trained with the soldiers, learned with the noblemen, and she bears herself as a man does. She doesn't have a touch of femininity about her."

Suddenly, I didn't like him. It was true: Nasuada didn't have a bone in her body that wasn't unyielding and tenacious, but to me, that just made her more of a woman—more attractive and intriguing.

He frowned. "I never fancied her much meself. I couldn't stand a wife so headstrong. Why, she would never obey me."

_And good riddance. You're an idiot._

"But I pity Ajihad," Evander went on. "What it must be like to have a daughter such as Nasuada! I am sure he lives in fear every day that he will see her death before his own."

I glanced over to where Ajihad sat alone forlornly, his head in his hands.

One of the Twins approached him. "Master, we should return to the city without delay. The dead are being prepared to be buried and your presence is required."

He nodded and rocked to his feet. The other men rose in a wave after him and we followed him wearily down the dark tunnel.

But I was no longer thinking of my weary body and sore limbs. I couldn't think of anything but Nasuada. Evander's words seemed to be echoing in my head: "_No respectable woman should make it to nine without an engagement. But then, Nasuada has never been quite what you should call normal, nor respectable._"

But what did that mean? Would she ended up married to some member of the Varden who was rich enough and well-educated enough to satisfy her father? Would she allow her father to choose for her? Would I be pushed aside?

Perhaps, she wouldn't marry at all. After all she wanted to rule the Varden after her father and I couldn't imagine her sharing her power willingly with the council, let alone a husband.

And what of us? Did she expect to propose marriage to her? Not now, surely, but in the future, yes, she probably would. Would she say yes? Would Ajihad accept?

Shouts up ahead broke through my troubled thoughts. I could see light very far up ahead—we had almost reached the city. But behind me where the body of our company walked, there were shouts and sound of swords being drawn.

"_URGALS!_" Evander shouted from the rear of the line of men.

From a tunnel to the right, dark shapes, unmistakable Urgals, streamed out towards. In the glint of light I saw that their eyes were curiously blank and unfocused.

Swords and axes clashed as our groups pressed together. We formed a circle around Ajihad and Twins and slowly began to move toward the exit. But we were outmatched. Every man faced three Urgals. And they fell on the rear of our train.

My old exuberance returned as I began to fight, but it was tempered by my fatigue. We were all simply too tired to perform. Four men were cut down before we had gained more than a few metres. The monsters had the advantage of surprise and quickly cut down four more men.

Was there anyone at the mouth of the tunnel who would hear us and come to our aid? Had they been expecting us to return now? Surely Ajihad had told _someone_…_anyone…_We would not survive otherwise.

I swung out ferociously at the two Urgals nearest me, catching one in the arm and nipping the other in the side so that my blade was embedded in his armor. They leered at me and my weapon released just in time for me to repel their swords.

I spun away from them, trying to gain space to move and I caught sight of Evander lying face down in the dirt of the tunnel floor.

I glanced behind me.

Ajihad, the Twins, and two men remained. Light flashed from one of the Twins, and an Urgal fell, clutching the stump of his severed arm. I cut down another Urgal and saw another fall to Ajihad's sword. But eight Urgals remained upright and able.

Suddenly, a swirl of motion disturbed the air, like a faint ribbon of dark mist filled the tunnel, surrounding us, separating us from each other. I couldn't see anyone in the miasma.

But slowly it cleared and I saw with rising horror and fear that the remained two men had fallen as well. Only three still stood: Ajihad, and the Twins.

What had happened? Had the Twins attempted magic that had gone horribly wrong in the confusion?

The remaining Urgals rushed toward us. I stepped in front of Ajihad and caught his eye for a moment and I knew we were thinking of the same thing.

_Nasuada…_

They surrounded us, their horrible, ugly faces leering.

They attacked without mercy, all eight aggressing at once. Two occupied me as the others converged on Ajihad. The Twins were covering behind us, weakly sending spells upon the attackers.

_I'm sorry I did not keep my promise_…__

I was making good time with the two Urgals of my own, incapacitating one and turning toward Ajihad when a sharp blow struck my head.

Darkness occluded my vision as I fell weakly to my knees. Through my spinning, flickering vision, I saw the Twins approach me and felt something grab my arm. Ajihad was losing, persevering, but losing.

_Please, do not forget me…_

His foremost attacker raised his sword high above his head and brought it down on his breastplate.

I heard him cry out.

I collapsed and my world went dark.

-x-

I awoke to the sensation of being dragged.

I blinked as my surroundings came slowly into focus: I was moving forward without no apparent or visible means of transport. My knees and feet were dragging along the ground, the skin torn and bleeding. My hands were bound behind my back, my hands clasped together.

Also, I was almost nude.

I was wearing nothing more than my chemise, shivering comfortably in the cold breeze.

I was no longer in the tunnel. I was being dragged across a woody forest. But it was not the Varden's forest that Eragon and I had encountered on route to the Varden, but rather it was the fruitless wood of the Empire.

_The Empire? But how could I possibly be in the Empire? _It had taken Eragon and I an age to cross the Empire and reach the Varden, how could be back? I must have been unconscious for the journey, but according to my empty, snarling stomach it couldn't have been more than two days.

I blinked.

The forest had become a dry brush.

Blink.

A river.

Was I hallucinating? _I must be. We couldn't possibly be moving so fast. Not even dragons can fly so fast and so far so quickly._

"He is awake, Egraz Carn."

My heart sank. I knew that voice.

I lifted my head slightly as two men came into my line of sight.

Two men that were entirely identical in every way.

-x-

Slowly, I began to distinguish between the two. Egraz Heim was tidy, but quick to anger and rash. Egraz Carn was more thoughtful but was unexpectedly bloodthirsty, laughed at the idea of pain in lesser creatures, and seemed to relish the possibility of having to hurt others on our journey.

But I still did know how we were moving. Every minute the scenery changed. We must have been flying, but the Twins could not have been so powerful as to fly us from the Varden to_…_wherever we were going. I did not know anyone who had that power, or did I?

"Where is Ajihad?"

Egraz Heim sniggered. "Dead, no doubt."

This angered me more than anything else. That they had hidden in the shelter of the Varden, until now and then exploded from within like a dirty parasite, killing its host in its rebirth. And Ajihad, who had given me a chance when no one else would—

Perhaps I caught him off guard, or perhaps righteous indignation more than anything else gave me strength, I ripped my hands and apart and lunged at the bald man, my feet finding purchase on the ground for just a moment until my hands closed around his throat.

_"Aaaah!" _He shrieked.

His brother winced, but, almost lazily, waved his hand and suddenly, my arms snapped to my side and my legs snapped straight and rigid so that I fell to the ground, feeling my bones reverberate as I thudded to the ground without a catch.

"Pathetic boy," he hissed. "You cannot win against us. We are his most loyal servants. We learned the Ancient Language from him. I know magic of such power—you can never hope to compete!"

A thrill of fear clenched my heart in its ice-cold hands. _Him? _Who _exactly_ were they speaking of?

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice from breaking. I would not be afraid, not of them.

They did not answer me, but the other Twin, Egraz Carn, approached me. He gripped my face roughly in his hand. Up close, I saw them anew. They each had sallow skin, close-set eyes that make them appeared almost cross-eyed. The hand that gripped me was large, but convulsively dainty.

"I did not like you from the moment I met you, Murtagh Morzansson. You did not submit to my will. It was an unnecessary power, but you disrespected me still." He sneered at me, jubilantly. "Where is Eragon, Murtagh?" He asked softly. "He is not here to protect you now."

I realized I still hadn't breathed out. I exhaled, slowly, quietly. I felt paralyzed.

His voice became softer still, so soft that I could barely distinguish it from the whispering wind. "But today is your lucky day, Murtagh," he continued. "I'm in a mood to forgive." He leered at me. "What do you think of that?"

"That's generous," Heim blurted, "Especially after the rude manners he showed last time." He sounded unsure, excited, scared, all at the same time; his voice sounded like Egraz Carn, except his voice lacked his brother's languid tenor.

He was afraid, I realized, because he had no idea what his brother had in mind. And now, so was I.

Egraz Carn waved a dismissive hand. And his voice dropped a little. "Of course, nothing is free in this world, and my pardon comes with a small price."

"That is fair," His brother chimed in. "Nothing is free."

"You are lucky, because today, it's only going to cost you one thing. Your mind."

"No."

He blinked in consternation.

"No?" His lesser half repeated, in complete confusion.

"Do what you will with me, but I will never surrender my mind to you."

"Think it over carefully, Murtagh. There is no dwarf, no Ajihad here to protect you from my wrath. This is a small and fair price to pay for your insolence." He stepped closer until his face was directly in front of mine, his noxious breath washing over my face. He said slowly, "This is your last chance. Do not test me. My temper is not kind."

I screwed up the muscles in my face and, with all the contempt I could muster, I spat in his face.

Slowly, thoroughly, he wiped the spittle from his face as though he relished the movement. "Whatever you wish, Murtagh," he said. Then Egraz Carn deliberately unbuttoned the cloak he wore, and tossed it carelessly to his brother. "In fact, I've changed my mind, you may keep your mind undesecrated," he said with a grin.

Something warm was running down my face. I tasted it with my tongue and realized it was blood. I had bitten down my lip so hard it had split and blood was flowing over my mouth, down my chin to mix the dirty ground.

He knelt behind me where I lay on the ground.

"I will allow you to keep it consecrated, so that you will always remember what I am about to do."

I closed my eyes and braced myself.

_I will not struggle. I will not scream. I will not show my weakness. I will not be broken._

* * *

><p><em><strong><em>Another relationshippy chapter, sorry. Though a twist ending, yeah? T<em>**__**_he inspiration for this chapter, if it wasn't already obvious, is Khaled Hosseini's _The Kite Runner. Boy, that book makes me cry. I have mixed feelings about this chapter because I had such serious, epic writer's block when I got started, but then, the ending turned out so differently than I predicted and I just sort of let go and let it take me where it wanted. **__**Let me know what you think!**_

_**_…_Well, did you review? **__**Are you ready for your cookie? Okay, open up Windows Explorer. Now navigate to this folder from your C-drive. **C:\User\Default\AppData\Roaming\Microsoft\Windows. __**Those are your cookies! How much does it suck for you guys that I am a compsci major? Hahaha, I am a dork. :)**_

_**PS. If you are a Mac user, I cannot help you. No one can.**_


	15. Chapter 14, Silver

_**The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN.**_

_AAAAAND SHE'S BACK! I am back, guys, and I have a new chapter for you! So without furthur ado, get reading and get ready for the blackest parts of this book. Just as the latter HP books were much darker, thus commences the true tragedy of Murtagh's life. And don't forget to drop me a review for my trouble :)_

_xoxo —ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 14, Silver<em>

Some years prior...

_"Murtagh, come here." He wait until I stood by his shoulder. "Sit."_

_I sat. "What is it, Tornac?" I asked impatiently._

_"It is time I take a hand in your education. You have outgrown the quartermaster in your training. I will be teaching you how to duel."_

_"Must I still study politics, and history, and figures, and runes?" I asked hopefully._

_"Oh, yes. Your studies there will continue."_

_My shoulders slumped. "What is it you will teach me? I can easily duel anyone I come across. I won my match with the weaponsmaster in Urû'baen!" I crowed._

_"That is child's play," he said calmly and my smile faded. __"I will be teaching you to cultivate the ability of protecting your mind. To protect yourself from the evils of the world, from Galbatorix—"_

_"He can read minds?" I said, my worst fears confirmed._

_Tornac waited until I had settled back, sure that I would not interrupt him again. __"The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Murtagh. But in a manner, yes. He is able to delve into the minds of his victims and discover their true names and enslave them to do his bidding."_

_Whatever Tornac said, it sounding like mind-reading to me._

_"But before I teach you how to protect your mind, remember this: one day you may come across someone who is too powerful to be resisted."_

_I scoffed._

_"Laugh, and truly I hope it would never happen." He sighed. "But if it does, there is only one way to save yourself and all that you hold dear. Reach inside yourself, reach deep and far until you discover the vast corners of your mind where your darkest thoughts and most secret, precious moments are hidden and turn yourself inside out."_

_"But what do you mean?"_

_"You must let go of everything you know of yourself. _Everything_. And be born again. Only then can you protect yourself from becoming corrupted and save those you cherish."_

_"You jest!" I cried. "How I can do that?"_

_"It is difficult, yes, but when you are faced with the choice, you will find that it is the easiest decision you've ever faced. I had to do it once, a very long time ago."_

_I watched him, awestruck. It had never occurred to me that Tornac had a past. He had only existed in the present to me, in the context of my own life. But perhaps, in another time he had had a wife, and a family—perhaps even a son, just like I._

_"What did you let go of?" I asked curiously._

_"I cannot recall." His eyes held an infinite sadness. "It haunts me every day, but I am gladder for it."_

-x-

"Get up, vermin," said a voice sharply.

A similar voice sniggered. "See how he sits upon his haunches, like a dog."

Eyes squinting, I slowed raised myself onto my knees, arms crossed over my body, clinging to the thin cloak I wore, shivering in the gales that blew past me in the corridor. Through my half-closed eyes, I guess we were in some sort of stone citadel. A notably musty air redelict of closed windows and long kept secrets distinguished itself.

"How long must we wait for him? We were announced almost an hour ago!" Egraz Heim whined petulantly.

"Silence, fool. Our sovereign always rewards those who are loyal to him and we have been ever so loyal. We put an end to Ajihad and brought him his godson. And reward us he will, beyond our wildest dreams."

A kick aimed at me punctuated this vindictively gleeful statement and I was sent sprawling across the cold stone floor.

I did not raise myself, lying motionless on the cold stone, urging my mind to work quickly and save myself from whatever impending doom these sadistic fiends had in store next.

From very far off, I heard a methodical clicking like a pair of heeled boots traipsing along. At the sound, the Twins stood, brushing themselves off hurriedly with harried cries of "he approaches!", until finally, as the noise grew louder, a pair of leather boots stopped beside my fallen form.

I looked up in the face of my captor, struggling to keep a hold of myself.

He stared at me—no, not at me, but at the scar upon my back. He stared at it hungrily, almost longingly. Perhaps it reminded him of his closest friend, if that was the appropriate term for their twisted relationship. Then, tearing his eyes from the blemish, he looked to the Twins.

"I fear, I never thought I should see you again, Murtagh. You've done well, you two. You've brought me my godson."

-x-

It was a nightmare come true to see him.

His hair was longer, and his beard framed his face differently. The dragon skin cloak hung over the chainmail he wore this day and a sword was clasped to his hip. But he was fit as ever—no paunch of age tainted him. He looked slightly older, it was like recalling my memory of him with deliberate mistakes. And who could forget his voice—a smooth tenor that could charm the Nïdhwals right out of the sea.

I paused to consider what it meant that he was armed, perhaps he was already preparing for a Rider confrontation.

The Twins prostrated themselves before Galbatorix, each increasingly humble. "My liege," they murmured unctuously. Humility did not become them.

"Rise." He seemed bored by their obsequies. "What ails him? Why does he lie there like a dying worm?"

"He's fine," Egraz Carn snarled, jabbing me in the ribs with the toe of his shoe. "He's attempting some pathetic ploy, playing dead to seek sympathy."

The King eyed him closely. The bald man winced slightly as he was mentally probed. "What's this? Why have you defiled him?" Galbatorix asked, his tone more appalled than angry.

"He was insubordinate." Egraz Heim piped up.

"I did not break him," his brother added, almost as an afterthought.

"You disgust me. And yet, I have need of you. Follow me."

They followed closely behind him, employing magic to drag me after their party. I was more awake now, keenly following their every word, monitoring every stray flicker of emotion Galbatorix betrayed.

All was not lost.

Yet.

We entered a room and I was shoved me into a chair as an aside. It was the same room that I had first been entertained.

The vast ballroom, the high vaulted throne, and yes, there! Shruiken's body lay behind Galbatorix's chair, still except for the slight rising and falling of his enormous body in a breath. And there, beside Galbatorix's seated form was a giant eyelid that shuttered the dragon's glittering, ice-cold eye with the cat-like slit pupil black as tar.

At a gusting noise that seemed to come from several directions at once, Galbatorix glanced over his shoulder at his dragon before turning back to the Twins. "Now." The King trained his eyes on the two identical men. "Explain."

They launched into speech, each supplementing the others words as they concocted a story that was clearly years old. The Twins, as it turned out, had always been turncoats—ever since the time of Deynor. They relayed many tidbits of information they had squirreled away from probing each newcomer's mind at the Varden's entrance.

I was newly happy they had not gained way into mind, until I quickly reminded myself that if Galbatorix chose to force his entry, I could affect little, if any, resistance.

Most of the information traded was innocuous—a careless slip here by a drunk dwarf, a revelation by a councilman there—though there several significant notes about the Varden's stratagems, weaknesses of the state were included in their testimonies.

"Putting an end to Ajihad was almost trivial," Egraz Heim crowed, exulted.

It was revealed that they had been planning to kill Ajihad for a long time coming. In fact, they had attempted it many times over: with poison that had been misdirected, bloody coup d'états which had never taken off, and more ruses—all of which had been undermined but never traced back to them.

"In the end, we realized the simplest maneuver was the best—he trusted us utterly and therein was the key to his demise." Egraz Carn chuckled. "It was almost absurd how simple it turned out to be in the end." He laughed again.

I felt the familiar rage return, the furious, immolating anger I had felt when I was their prisoner. To hear them talk so lowly of Ajihad who had been nothing but courteous and, however reluctantly, trusting of me in spite of my past.

Galbatorix laughed, too. "Not quite the thirty pieces of silver that Fírnen accepted from Vermûnd, but fine work nonetheless. Do they know you are traitors?"

"Doubtful. Ajihad did not see the attack and as no other magician accompanied us, there is nothing to suggest anything but our undying loyalty to the old fool."

"Well, then, I suppose you are wanting of your reward. A castle has been made available for your occupancy outside Urû'baen."

My old castle.

Egraz Heim's face brightened just as his brother's crumpled.

"But your Majesty, I thought—" Egraz Carn began. Then, he seemed to think the better of his complaint and closed his mouth, his expression mutinous.

"What did you think? The King asked idly. "Magic? A Ra'zac servant, perhaps a Shade to cater to your simpleton's demands?"

"Eldunarí?" The word came ever so softly and the bald man made an involuntary movement with his hand outstretched for a fraction of a second, as if he expected to receive something.

_Eldunarí_?This was a new word to me.

The gesture was not missed by Galbatorix, whose eyes widened maliciously. "Give you my eldunarí, Egraz Carn? When I have worked so hard to gain them?"

In response, jets of fire appeared in the yawning pits of Shruikan's nostrils, and then he growled as well, filling the chamber with a rumble like that of a rockslide.

"Peace, Shruikan."

The black dragon grew silent again. His eyelid descended, but it did not close completely; the dragon continued to watch us through a gap a few inches wide, as if waiting for the right moment to pounce.

"I have given you your liberty and faculties, Egraz Carn, is that not enough for you?" Galbatorix said lightly, his tone becoming softer and evidently increasingly fraught with impending peril. "But I have noticed that you seem less than happy of late. Perhaps you expected a more exuberant homecoming?"

Realizing he was treading in dangerous waters, the bald man quickly backpedaled. "No, my Lord! Of course, you have been uncommonly generous.

"Such lies, Egraz Carn..." The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving. The bald man under scrutiny shuddered.

"But there is something else, my liege!" His brother cut in.

Galbatorix tore his eyes away from Egraz Carn. "What is it?"

"I think you will find this interesting, my lord. When my brother searched the Dragon Rider's mind, he found an uncommon truth that we did not know."

"Out with it!" Galbatorix snapped.

"The Rider's mother's name was Selena."

-x-

It took several moments for these words to sink in.

I wrenched my eyes away from Shruiken's reposed form and stared in shock at the lesser bald man.

"Selena?" Galbatorix repeated, his eyes widening in glee amazement. "You don't mean, Morzan's right hand—the Black Hand herself."

"I mean none but she."

"Well, this is very interesting indeed. What does the Varden think of this? I find it hard to believe they would waste so much effort bullying a toerag like Murtagh when another of Morzan and the Black Hand's spawn was riding atop a dragon."

"They did not know and Eragon never made the connection. I believe he does not know very much about the Forsworn and their consorts."

_He was __my brother. ___Eragon___…___is ____my brother.__

Here was the answer I had always sought: why my mother had abandoned me to the clutches of my sadistic father. It was Eragon she had wanted to protect my life. I was already beyond saving. And so completely had she succeeded: Eragon was a Rider and I was…nothing.

_Nothing at all._

At this, Galbatorix turned away from the Twins and faced me.

"You did not know this, Murtagh?" His voice full of a drawling, sneering contempt.

As much as I could help it, I could not hide the shock so apparent on my face.

With an idle gesture, he dismissed the Twins and it remained just the pair of us and a very angry dragon in the vast, vast room.

"Truly, I was worried that I would never see you, Murtagh." He laughed at the confused expression on my face. "Not for sentiment's sake, of course, but I have watched you since your birth and you are uniquely advantaged to become my second in command. And needless to say, I seldom judge potential poorly."

"I do not know what you mean, sir." I could not keep my voice from trembling.

"Your lineage predisposes you for greatness. And I have given you everything to set you at an advantage: tutors, privilege, wealth. And yet, this is how you repaid me?" He shook his head, almost humble in his sorrow. "You ran from me when I extended a hand of solidarity. I told you we could bring my empire to heights yet unknown."

He stood and walked to the door. When he realized I had not followed, he paused on the threshold and said simply, "Come."

And it was plain to me I had no choice.

-x-

My wrists were bound to a wooden post.

"I could have been like the father you never had, Murtagh. Instead you spited my friendship. You spat in the face of my dream. But no matter, every father knows that sons breed trouble. I shall save you from yourself and bring you back to your chosen path."

Standing behind him was a stranger, but I recognized his uniform, one designated for imperial troops. This man had a brutality about his face. Hard, with deep lines so rigid they may have been set with a stream press and a cruel mouth; his jaw set with a grim determination, a little eagerness, too; his eyes so black they seemed to be all pupils.

And in his hand, he held a whip.

And yet, the pieces of the picture did not quite come together until I saw his arm raise the whip and the lash came down on my back.

The full force of the blow came down across my upper back. The pain was blinding and immediate though muted a first through my tunic. Jagged flashes of light cut my vision and I fell to my knees, held up only by the rope tied to my wrists. I could already feel the welt rising on my skin. I blinked against the pain and saw the cobblestones of the cell beneath me wet with blood and the air heavy with its scent.

And so, it went on.

Until I could barely distinguish one lash from the next.

Until I was so numb from the pain that each successive blow barely jolts me.

Until my tunic hung off me in tatters and each movement brought a searing pain that quickly faded into the next.

Until Galbatorix finds his mercy.

"I hope this will teach you, Murtagh," I could hear him saying. "A father's duty is first to his son and I must punish you or you should never know the error of your ways." He crouched next to me so that I could look nowhere but into his face, into those deep, menacing, fathomless eyes, dark as the ocean's depths, and infinitely clever. "Now, I offered you the choice before, but it is clear to me now that I cannot trust you with such liberal freedoms. Will you swear fealty to me?"

"Never." I wheezed; even speaking seemed to take an extreme effort.

"I advise against your refusal. The alternative will not be pleasant."

I thought of Tornac, of his advice. No doubt this was a ripe time for his methods. I could protect the others from Galbatorix's intrusion if I chose to forget. How many times had I seen old soldiers frequent the cities taverns, using sleeping syrup or mead to help them forget the horrors of war, their memories disappearing in a fog of cloying sweetness? I could become Galbatorix's pet and protect them in my ignorance. And Nasuada, I could protect her.

_Nasuada. _If the roles were reversed, what would she choose? _She would never be in this position! But if she were—she would not lie down and let him walk over her. Nasuada would fight, just as she fought for her father, just as she fought for me. _And there was the answer: one part determination and one part obstinance.

And one final part fatal hubris, that maybe Galbatorix was falliable.

I did not have to speak my rebuke. Galbatorix could see the unyielding resolve forming on my face, my tortured features a mask of defiance.

"So be it."

Even as he had warned me, I was not prepared for the onslaught unto my mind. I had withstood so many attacks on my mind and always come away victorious. I was arrogant, as I had been so many times before.

As always, it was my downfall.

By far, the Twins' had been the strongest tests of my self-control, but now they were nothing, merely jagged feathers against my mind. But against Galbatorix, all else faded to oblivion.

Where others pierced my psyche methodically, point by point, searching out individual cracks, the weaknesses they perceived in my mind, Galbatorix attacked ubiquitously. From each invading pinprick of callous inquisition, the sensation was different, the flavor unique—like thousands of souls in one. I could sense behind them an instability, a desperate fury, a helpless desire to escape.

I could sense his own consciousness as it bore down me and it perplexed me. He was everywhere at once.

_But how?_

So many thousands of needle-points of consciousnesses pierced my mind, finding the infinitely tiny fissures in my armor—faults that I did not even know existed. He was truly omnipotent.

_Resistance is futile._

I fought as hard as I could against it. The darkness could not, must not consume me.

While everyone had always said Galbatorix was unstoppable, I had all always believed that there existed someone who would challenge him and defeat the King. Because, if nothing else, all reigns had to end.

But now, I understood the King. The extents of his might—none. It was infinite, unbounded. He was the Beor Mountains of Dragon Riders. Never-ending, insurmountable, never ceasing.

What followed was pain like I had never imagined it could be.

Unbearable—too much _everything_. It all scorched my soul. Sound, touch, smell, sight—every sense screamed with the intensity of living.

_Be not_, I begged of the gods.

For so long, I thought my soul was lost.

That for being Morzan's son, a terrible disappointment to Tornac, and a weak enough fool to succumb to Galbatorix's advance that nothing good could await me after my death.

_How could it not? _I was a marked man. My soul was already lost. I was condemned to hell on Earth and something perhaps worse afterwards.

But I had finally arrived here, at the edge of sanity, and I came to a painful realization: I had been wrong.

_This_ was what losing my soul felt like.

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><p><em><strong>In case anyone caught this and was wondering, the "thirty pieces of silver" is a reference to the Bible, in how Judas betrays Jesus for thirty silver coins.<strong>_

_**REVIEW, please :)**_


	16. Chapter 15, Hatchling

**_The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN._**

_PS. Shoulda mentioned this before, but credit where it is due: anything recognizable from this and the previous chapter is borrowed from Suzanne Collins' Hunger Games series. I reread all the books last night and I was riding this crazy adrenaline/endorphin high and I just keep writing and writing. It was AWESOME! It feels great to be inspired to write again._

_This is also a short chapter, but I think it's powerful. It resonated with me anyway. Enjoy._

UPDATE:_ Added a bit more to the end of this chapter._

_Xoxo—ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

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><p><em>Chapter 15, Hatchling<em>

_I am back in a forest._

_My sword swings from my hip, my bow clenched in a fist as I run pell-mell—a mouse released as the cat toys with it—holding tightly to my bow and arrows, banging into trees that appear out of nowhere, tripping and falling as I try to keep my balance as the Twins laugh somewhere off in the distance._

_The world begins to bend alarmingly. A raven balloons to the size of a house then shatters into a million stars. Trees transform to blood and splash down over my boots. Ants begin to crawl out of the blisters on my hands and I can't shake them free. They're climbing up my arms, my neck._

_Someone's screaming, a long high pitched scream that never breaks for a breath. I have a vague suspicion it might be me. I trip and fall and above me the maws of a giant black dragon appear above me and swallow me whole—_

_Eragon dead. His body splayed across the ground like a child's rag doll, infinitely young in death, the spitting image of my mother. His dragon a still mound of sapphire skin beside him—_

_Tornac falls off his horse, tumbling to the ground, the slash at his throat growing wider and wider until his head rolls away, a ghost of a smile still on his lips; later his head on a pike by the castle's entrance, telling me, "Murtagh, GO!"_

_Except, I cannot flee. I am on my hands and knees as the soldiers approach, shaking him as tears run down my face._

_Please, please, don't leave me—_

_Nasuada now: her body strung up on the wall of a citadel, limbs hanging limply from four origins where she was crucified, body ravaged—_

"NOOOOOO…"I came to myself, screaming incoherently. The image of the prison swam before my eyes, haltingly eclipsed by a nightmarish vision.

I fell to my knees, and clasped my arms tightly around my legs, rocking back and forth like a madman, screwing my eyes shut, trying to stave off more hallucinations with no such luck.

I entered an endless nightmare from which I woke repeatedly only to find a greater terror awaiting me: all the things I dreaded most, all the things I dreaded for others manifest in such vivid detail I could not help but believe their veracity.

Each time I awoke, I held to my sanity by my fingertips before I was drawn into the new horrific surreality that marked the beginning of a new chapter of torment.

_How many ways do I watch Eragon die? Relive my mentor's last moments? Feel my own body ripped apart by hungry teeth? Watch Nasuada defiled by scores of men? _

_Each time helpless to prevent it, any of it, all of it._

I squeezed my eyes tight, forcing myself to draw each next breath and ordering my body not to betray me with weakness or illness, though what do I have left to lose? It has surely been days since my last meal.

This was the nature of Galbatorix's torture. This was what he meant when he spoke of mental anguish. It stayed where physical wounds vanished with time.

Tucking my knees up to my chin, I begged the gods for death, and waited.

-x-

_I am asleep. I must be._

I was, it appeared, walking along a long dark hallway. There was very little light but from the candle brackets set at intervals along the wall that burned an unnatural bright blue flames, casting everything into an eerie shadow.

_Is this another nightmare?_

I couldn't distinguish between life and Galbatorix anymore, the two melted together so seamlessly—I couldn't afford to let my guard down.

_So dark, so very cold._

I couldn't find myself in the darkness, couldn't sense where my body ended and the inky blackness began.

Then, suddenly, I was in a vast, empty room, the ceilings high and vaulted as a cathedral's. There was nothing in it except at its very center: two cushions lay on a broad pedestal. It was very cold.

Slowly, I rose to my feet, squinting. When had I fallen down?

Nestled in the cushion furthest from me was a large green stone, glassy, opaque, and smooth, shining a brilliant emerald; lights swirled arrestingly from within sending cascades of glimmering beams to dance upon the floor around it.

I brushed my fingertips against it and was surprised to find that it was warm to touch, as though it as had been lying out in the sun for hours.

Perched on the next cushion was a brilliantly vermillion egg. It, too, emitted a glorious sheen of light from within, a brilliant, venomously entreating ruby.

I touched it tentatively, my fingers delighting in the smooth sensation of the enamel as they run over its breadth.

_Crack._

Like bones snapping.

I ignored the sounds, trying to gather my bearings and ascertain what I could about my surroundings before Galbatorix resumed his torment.

I turned my head, eyes closed. My muscles in my neck creaked stiffly.

How long had I been hanging in that room, from my wrists? Time ceased to exist here. How long had I been with Galbatorix? It could have been weeks or merely hours.

The cracking stopped and I tilted my head, straining to hear.

_Nothing._

Now, the pillow was wet with liquid that shone unnaturally bright like the mark on Eragon's palm. The splintered remains of a ruby-red egg lay motionless upon it.

I lay there, frozen with horror. I felt the breath leave me as if someone had stabbed me. My heart stopped for a moment as terror and anguish took me.

A small scuffling sound drew my eyes behind me. Leathery wings folded against a scarlet body, a deep purring sound emanating from it. It stared at me with brilliant red eyes.

I backed away from it. My back pressed again the pedestal and I turned around it so that it stood between me and —

"No, no, no, nononono…" I moaned helplessly.

The hatchling froze, its slitted pupils studying me carefully. It was confused—obviously this was not typical Rider behavior. I could read its eyes just like a humans—intelligent and aware, but at the same time hurt by my rejection and disoriented from its unfamiliar surroundings.

I picked up the pillow and threw it at the dragon. It skittered across the floor to avoid it, its claws scraping against the marble parquetry. I picked up the remains of the eggs, still oozing amniotic fluids and threw those, too. It stopped several feet away from me, tilting its head, perplexed.

"Get out! Get away from me!" I came toward, exuding as much wrath and disgust as I could, begging it to read my body language and flee. "I am not your Rider."

I could not have another Shruikan. I could not subject this innocent, magnificent creature to the terrors I was in store for.

It came toward me in an uncertain, hobbling pace.

"Don't come near me!" I shouted. "Don't touch me!" If it did—if I had the mark—it was all over.

It snarled at me, darting back as I swiped at it.

I leapt backward, slipped and fell—still weak from Galbatorix' work on me. Misery rose up in me until I thought I might be violently sick. It hopped toward me. It would never stop.

"It's for your own good." I sobbed.

It crooned softly, trying to comfort _me._

It was truly my dragon—compassionate to the point of masochism, the light to my darkness. How suited for each we were, and how much I wish we weren't. As much as I had envied Eragon, this was nothing like what I had hoped…in my wildest dreams or nightmares.

_…Nightmares?_

Realization dawned upon me. At once, I realized: it was simply another of Galbatorix's attempts to subdue me. It was all an act, a hallucination. The dragon was not real, could not be.

Of all the people in the world, _I_ had a dragon? Murtagh Morzansson, the son of a Forsworn? _Unlikely_. Dragons everywhere had most likely sworn off my bloodline forever.

I wrapped my arms around my knees, sobbing weakly in relief. It sidled closer and I did not stop it. It continued to croon, roughly, soothingly. It nuzzled against my leg, hot breath on my skin.

I reached out and pressed my hand against its snout.

My entire body went numb. Ice raced through my veins contrasting with the scorching fire against my hand. A blast of icy energy surged into my hand and raced up my forearm, burning in my veins like liquid fire. Every part of my body seared with pain anew. I struggled to move away, but was unable to, until slowly, the warmth crept back into my extremities, leaving them tingling unpleasantly.

Shivering uncontrollably, I pushed myself upright. My hand was numb, the fingers paralyzed and slowly threw the dried blood that coated my palms, the skin of my palm shimmered and formed a diffused white oval.

The skin itched and burned. My heart pounded frantically as I waited for the next symptom that would floor me.

And suddenly, I gasped sharply—the walls were gone. The impenetrable walls that almost always protected my mind had crumbled. Immediately, another presence pressed up against my mind, a child's mind—simple and vulnerable.

The horror of the truth welled up inside me.

"No! No, what have you done?" I pleaded hoarsely. "You've surrendered yourself to a life of misery and pain."

I could feel the consciousness pressed against mine—a simple existence and only thing kept me from violently ejecting it violently as my instinct screamed to: that emanating from it was blind, unwavering uncorrupted trust, in me.

"No," I moaned.

All his life he would know pain as his constant companion. The twins of bloody vengeance and hatred would follow him. He was just as victim as I was, but I at least could protect myself. How could I protect him from_ me?_

"_Finally_." The voice was back—smooth and luxurious and very pleased.

There was a moment, when I realized exactly what would happen—where I projected into the future and I knew exactly what time held for the dragon and I—a moment where I could have attacked it and saved it from myself.

The moment passed.

And then out of nowhere, a spike battered against my consciousness. Already weary from the physical abuse, I screamed out, a moment of weakness. I could sense the King's consciousness—he had snaked in from the dragon's mind, unprotected from entry as it was still young, and from the connection overtaken mine.

"You can't use him to get to me," I spat, each word taking tremendous effort. "He is not mine! This perverted union will not bear any fruit."

"I am delighted to pronounce you are wrong, Murtagh." Galbatorix's voice seemed to emanate from my very own mind. I sensed him, still there, delving through my every thought. "I did not force him to hatch for you. It seems you are indeed your father's son. Congratulations."

"I am NOT!" I shouted.

"Blood always tells."

"That thing is not mine." I threw the dragonling from me in disgust.

"As you wish, Murtagh. After all, I only want one thing—its eldunarí—and I can get it whether it is dead or alive."

Footsteps approached.

I spun around. Galbatorix approached us and he paused before the dragon. "What a pity." His cold eyes smiled mercilessly. He brought his heeled boot down on the hatchling.

There was a terrible crack, worse in significance than the one I had heard earlier. Its wing snapped aside, so that dark blood spread across the marble floor. It was shrieking in misery, trying to right itself and find cover.

Trying to understand. Why I hated it. Why it was being tormented.

_I told you so._

The breath came out of me as if I had fallen a long distance and I gasped as an echo of pain whispered along my own arm.

"No!" I shouted, unable to stop myself. "No, please stop!" I sobbed. I fell to my knees in front of Galbatorix. "Please, he is mine."

He gave me a dispassionate look as he healed it wing, leaving vestiges of the pain as a lesson. I couldn't stop the tears that flood my face. My body heaved with sobs and I scrambled on the floor around his feet, holding the hatchling gently in my arms.

I glanced up at him, beseechingly. "Please."

He smiled in triumph.

His mouth opened and he spoke a string of words in the Ancient Language. The hairs on my neck rippled and I shuddered as a strange warmth and cold filled me. The words reverberated inside of me and they seemed to…_become_ me.

They spoke of anger, my unbounded, uncontained fury. At life, at Morzan, at my mother, and even at Eragon. But there was also pride for being of noble blood—a narcissistic vanity. But above all of that, an overwhelming desire, need, to belong, to be accepted; to establish myself distinctly from my forbearers. A desire so intense that it cried desperation.

_My true name._ My life, my mind, my soul. They were all his, and by association, I had condemned this tiny soul, this bundle of innocence to the same merciless fate.

He left us, broken by despair.

The tiny dragon was already recovering, thriving under the tender affection I finally gave to him. I alone wept bitterly because I knew our anguish had only begun.

A hate coursed through me, partly for Galbatorix, but mostly for myself. If I had been alone, I could have withstood Galbatorix's advances and torture for however long he kept them up. I knew I would have preferred death to a broken will.

But the hatchling?

It began to croon softly again, trying to soothe my sadness despite its own pain. It almost caused me to begin weeping yet again, but I knew I had to stay strong no longer for my sake. Gently it brushed up against my mind.

Out of visceral habit, I slammed the walls down around my vulnerable mind.

But, it didn't attempt to enter my mind. Instead, it waited, trusting.

No one had ever done that for me.

_Trusted_.

My life, ever since birth, had been driven by the ever-present threat of death. My will to survive had commanded my every action. This urgency had left me jaded and cynical. I had confided in very few men and entirely trusted none. And yet, this dragon had reduced me to the emotional nudity of a newborn infant.

He was the chink in my armor, the flaw in my perfect plan.

A thorn in my side.

Just as I had been to my sire. I could finally understand why Morzan had despised Selena and I, and yet, loved us at the same time—why we were his reason for living and his demise as well.

"Thorn," I announced.

Its bright consciousness brushed against my own eagerly. It accepted the moniker. It made a snuffling sound as it nuzzled my hand. The gedwëy ignasia glittered and shone on my hand, a death sentence for the both of us.

There had been a moment; a split second where I could have attacked it, and destroyed its trust in me forever, effectively breaking the bond we had created.

But the moment had passed; no, _I_ had it let go.

My world was in disarray.

The invisible wall surrounding my thoughts had fallen away, and I was now free to reach out with my mind. But without anything to hold me to myself, I was half-afraid I would float right out of my body and disappear into the ether.

Half-afraid and perhaps even half-hopeful.

Something brushed against my consciousness, like a finger trailing over skin. It solidified into a tendril of thought through which I could feel a growing hunger.

A scaly leg scraped against my side, and I jerked back. It was still jarring, even now, to think this dragon was mine. A light tingling ran up his arm as I rubbed the hatchling head with my hand. Its back arched like a cat's and a low purr emanated from its chest.

I slid a finger over its thin wing membranes, brittle as old parchment, yet like velvet. They ran warm as hundreds of slender veins pulsed blood like rubies through them.

Being alone had always been my safeguard. If I depended on no one and let no one in, no one would get hurt. And neither could I.

_And now?_

The damning mark glittered on my palm like some exquisite silver filigree.

I was so weary of being alone. Of being alone—after Selena, after Eragon, after Tornac, after Nasuada…each had left me grieving anew from promises broken, tears constantly brooked, and shattered hearts. I had been selfish, aching for someone to share my terrible existence.

And for that, for Thorn, I could never forgive myself.

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><p><em><strong>REVIEW, please :)<strong>_


	17. Chapter 16, Spark

**_The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN._**

_FAQ for the last chapter: why did Thorn hatch so quickly, considering Saphira takes like a day or two to start hatching after she meets Eragon. Well, my explanation is Saphira sensed that she was in danger after her egg was intercepted so she was cautious. But Thorn isn't in any danger, not the typical danger. Anyway, he was done with waiting. Also, I think it goes well with their personality types: Saphira being the careful, cautious sort while Thorn is a little more red-blooded, haha, pun intended._

_I should also include a trigger warning for a line in this chapter in the form of an allusion to a recent tragic event featured in the news. I hope no one thinks I am making light of it in any way or glorifying violence or misogyny in any way. _When I heard those words on the news, they really stayed with me because they were so chilling and I felt they had a horrifying eloquence to them. That is all._  
><em>

_Xoxo—ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

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><p><em>Chapter 16, Spark<em>

_Are you certain you wish to do this?_

"Yes!" I answered aloud, a little louder than necessary even. A flock of alarmed birds in a nearby tree squawked in alarm and took flight. _Yes. It is finally time._

_You know I would not think less of you if you deferred, or avoided it altogether._

_I do._

_I worry that your insatiable machismo may be one day be the end of you._

How far we had come.

Today was the nineteenth anniversary of my birth. And for the rare circumstance, Thorn had persuaded Galbatorix to afford us some leisure and a break from our studies.

I marveled.

How was it that in spite of everything Thorn was able to wheedle such favors from the King? Where everyone else cowered under the King's personage, he thrived. Even I, though Galbatorix favored me now, still walked around him with caution in every movement as if on eggshells.

But such was my dragon's nature.

He delighted in the simple and still had the easy wonder of a child that I had never had the luxury of indulging myself. He charmed everyone without effort. Even Shruikan, who was surly and constantly on the verge of fury, seemed to soften in his presence.

Thorn was no longer a hatchling. He had grown to a monstrous size, though still incomparable to Shruikan, of course. And even now in the darkness of night, his form glittered like an ember in a dying fire. Galbatorix had kept him on a strict, regimented diet and accelerated his bodily growth through magic.

Long behind us were the days where I could take him in my arms to protect him.

The rapid accumulation of bulk though had rendered him unwieldy when we practiced aerial maneuvers, though he was striving to adjust him accordingly. From what little I had surmised of Eragon's training in our travels, it appeared mine, even accelerated as it was, was proceeding ever smoothly.

We had gone a mile or two when we passed over a night shepherd upon the moorlands far from the capital near a small town called Eldritch. He cried in alarm and fled when he saw us approach. Thorn slowed so I could stop the man and alter his memory to forget us.

Galbatorix wanted no one to know of Thorn and I until our glorious renaissance against the Varden⸺his words, not ours.

We were en route to my father's old castle. Not my childhood home, not the castle where I had grown up, a stone's throw from the King, but his reignhold in the Spine. I had never had occasion to visit his primary abode because this was where he had sequestered my mother to keep us separate.

We had been traveling for several days to reach it, following the Toark River into the mountain range.

We traveled light: in particular, I was not carrying any eldunarya with us because we were going so far away. Although I was trusted enough to learn much secret and dark magic from the King, he only trusted me as far as he could throw me. Because, although I had been forced to swear many oaths to the King, he did not control our every moment as he thought it might hamper our abilities in the spur of the moment.

_We are near._

In response, Thorn began to lose altitude and patience. _What do you hope to find?_

_Answers_, I replied enigmatically. Truth be told, I did not know what I was looking for or even what I hoped to find. But these past months, under the tutelage of Galbatorix and Shruikan had left me uncertain. I was quick replacing my father, but was I becoming him as well?

Suddenly the thick brush of the wood that filled the Spine gave way to a small settlement. I had never heard of any such remote town in the Palancar Valley aside from Thereinsford.

_Where are we?_

_I do not know. There is the Anora River basin beyond, but I have never heard of a town so far into the Spine. Lower, for I feel curious._

We flew lower over the town.

Every structure had been burned to the ground and utterly destroyed. The remnants recalled a small township characterized by stout log houses with low roofs and wide porches⸺probably a trading town. As we flew over the desecrated ghost-town, I could see a few wolves scavenging among the remains.

Next to one charred beam, stood a pike with the Imperial flag.

I couldn't explain why, but I felt an inexplicable kinship to this place.

_It is Galbatorix_, I thought, staring up at the obliterated remains; i_t always came back to Galbatorix...he is the one who tears these families apart, who ruined all these lives and ours._

_It is no use thinking like that, _Thorn chided me. _It will only get you in trouble. Put your mind at ease. At least the battle will an easy one. They can hardly hope to match us._

I cursed under my breath. The upcoming battle had slipped my mind for the moment. The Varden and their allies, presumably Surda and the elves and dwarves, had been preparing to amass along the Plains. A battle was nigh, which inevitably meant that I would have to go head to head with Eragon.

In the strangest way, Thorn was much like Eragon: they had always seen the best in me. Their undying optimism had been as much of an annoyance as it had been a relief.

_There! I see it!_

Turrets were rising up out of the gloom of the forest. And then, the castle loomed with a momentous, horrifying presence before us, its obsidian and granite shell as black as its owner's soul. One of the largest turrets opened into a monstrous dragonhold, open on one side built right into the side of a peak. Thorn settled inside.

For being as high in the air as it was and the hoary weather of the region, I had expected it to be uncomfortably drafty, but it was filled with a wonderful warmth that seemed to emanate from several large red coals that lay in one corner, set into a grand hearth, reflected a hundredfold in the gleaming granite walls.

_I wonder who lit these. The castle seems to be deserted._

_I believe they are magically sustained._

_It reminds me of my egg. _Thorn made for a make-shift dragon's nest in the center of the keep. It was lined with silk and satin. He purred as he settled within its folds. _I could allow myself to become accustomed to this._

I smiled as I clambered off his back. _Look at you. You're no dragon at all. I suppose if I found a ball of string, you'd certainly turn into a kitten._

He lifted one eyelid to glare balefully at me. _Do you require my company for this?_

"No, I will proceed myself." I did not know if he heard the slight edge to my voice.

With a last glance at him, I walked over to the edge of the keep and stepped out into thin air. I laughed, giddy with exhilaration as the feeling of weightlessness took hold of me. The rush of air tore off my cape and made my eyes water and sting. For several seconds, I fell fast, my speed increasingly perilous until, a few feet from the ground, I slowed my descent magically and landed in a graceful crouch.

_Was that quite necessary? You humans are very melodramatic sometimes._

I ignored him.

The castle was empty, littered with the sparse remains of an abandoned establishment.

Icy snow crunched under my footsteps, the lonely refrain to my even lonelier sojourn, as I walked around the castle's girth. Shallow stone steps led a few feet up to a narrow circular garden directly in the shadow of the castle. _There⸺_in the center of the garden was what I had sought.

On the icy path that lead forward, the snow lay deep and untouched. I moved slowly, feeling like I was dreaming, carving deep trenches as I went. My hand was outstretched as I waded deeper and deeper into the graveyard, gouging tracks into the snow behind me until I stood face to face with their likenesses.

Instead of a traditional headstone, there were three statues: a tall man with broad shoulders. He was sculpted in a regal pose but somehow the artiste had captured the ever-present cruelty that warped his handsome features into an evil mask. Morzan was outfitted in his own famous armor. It shone as bright as Thorn's scales.

The woman had long hair and a kind face that belied her true nature. A small boy sat in her mother's arms.

_Was this I?_ I couldn't be sure anymore. Though, it must be. Few people had known Morzan had sired me, but even fewer⸺perhaps none save Galbatorix, the Twins, and I⸺knew that he had sired Eragon.

I must have stood there for quite some time. For when I finally caught ahold of myself, I sent a cascade of small icicles falling from my extremities on to a small plaque was affixed at their feet. It read:

_Little onward lend thy guiding hand_  
><em>To these dark steps, a little further on;<em>

_Retiring from the popular noise, I seek_  
><em>This unfrequented place to find some ease,<em>

_Times past, what once I was, and what am now._  
><em>O wherefore was my birth and demise from Heaven foretold<em>  
><em>Twice by an angel<em>

_All in flames ascended._

Magic left traces unique to the spellcaster and I could sense that this was not Galbatorix's work. At best, he probably did not care enough about Morzan, and certainly not Selena, to be bothered with such a vain memento.

Most people were understand the impression that the Forsworn were friends, that Morzan, even I were in his confidence, but this was simply untrue. Galbatorix had never had a had a friend, nor, I believed, had he ever wanted one. We, Thorn and I, even Morzan and Selena, were means to an end. Nothing more.

But beyond he, I could not think of no one else to have written such an epitaph. Tornac _could_ have, but he would not have had the magical skill to craft such a likeness of my parents. Nor could I imagine he would deign to do any such thing in my father's memory.

In any case, the epithet was more about my mother than my father. And I knew as precious little about her as did the rest of the world.

I drew closer, gazing hungrily into the faces of my parents. I had never imagined I would see them again, not even this crude reimagining. How odd it was to see myself as a happy child; I did not ever recall being happy as a child. My hands were pressed against the freezing stones as though I could force myself to fall into their world and reach her.

So many questions I had for her. Why Morzan? Why not me? Why Eragon? A great ache swelled up within me, half-longing, half-terrible sadness.

_"Mother..."_

I touched her face, recalling the details of her visage that had over time been lost to the void of my memory, feeling as if something heavy were pressing on my chest, a grief that had actually weighed on my heart and lungs.

That my mother's moldering remains lay beneath snow and stone, indifferent, unknowing, not knowing or caring that her eldest son stood here, barely alive because of her choice to sacrifice one for the other; that in a few days time, because of her choice, her two sons would go head to head; Wishing now that I was sleeping under the snow with her; that she could still save me simply by taking me in her arms.

_Come, Murtagh. It is time to go._

Numbly, mutely, at Thorn's beckon I left the sanctuary of the past.

_Life has been unfair to you, Murtagh. No one know this better than I. The flames of hatred burn potently within you. Our hardships evoke more fatigue than fury. And you suffer more acutely and feel more desperation still. A spark could be enough to set you afire. I only worry that it may destroy you._

I knew how others looked at me. The suspicion, the hatred—all for being the scion of Morzan. They had made me in what I would become. Their prejudice had sentenced me to this fate. No, not simply their hatred. Her choice.

But, at least now I knew.

_I am Murtagh, the son of Morzan. __Like father, like son._

-x-

"Here I am."

I was wearing the burnished amour the King had specified for me. The suit of armor had been unremarkable, but it had been enriched with magic for my protection.

Galbatorix looked up from the tome he had been perusing. His eyes widened and a broad smile spread across his visage. He stepped off his chaise toward me, hands outstretched. He clasped my shoulders.

"It is striking how very much like your father to appear. I cannot believe it is not my closest friend standing before me."

Involuntarily, I tipped my chin up defiantly.

"It bothers you, does it not, to be compared to him. I do not pretend that he made a better man than an ally, but he did have his worth. And ultimately, I have him to thank, for you."

He walked around me, his eyes admiring, his tone almost reverent in reminiscence.

_"Look at you."_

He waved his hands and a clay tablet appeared in a whirl of color and movement. He closed his eyes, his hands grasping the tablet as slowly an image was inscribed upon it.

The fairth depicted a tall man, his maned head and broad shoulders against a dark, indistinct background. Firelight backlit his feature, but instead of warming them, it cast an ominous aura to him.

He was adorned the armor I now wore.

His hair was as black as a raven's feathers, and his eyes, one blue, one black, were utterly devoid of humanity and empathy. A cold smirk played on his lips. Admittedly, he was handsome, but the hardness of his face showed the innate cruelty and belligerence that consumed his every waking thought.

The fairth slipped in and out of focus as cords and veins ridged my hands so that I wondered if I was not facing a looking glass and seeing my likeness. The slate shook in my grip.

"Perhaps this will inspire you."

_Be calm_, Thorn reminded me.

Galbatorix turned away from me so that his form was framed in the window as he looked out upon his land. Clouds had gathered on the horizon and come to a head in a thunderhead that cast a grey ominous pall on the land below it.

"They begun fighting. By the time you arrive, they will have tired. This is my design: stop at nothing to reduce these infidels, these traitors into mountains of skulls and rivers of blood for they deserve no less. You must strive to capture them, but _remember_: no matter how much you desire it, you are not to kill the child or his dragoness."

I understood myself to be dismissed and strode out of the room and as soon as I was out of earshot, I hurled the fairth against the ground, shattering the picture into a thousand pieces, the tablet blank upon impact.

I drew my sword from its sheath and, holding it aloft, set off for the battle.

* * *

><p><em>Also, the poem I used for the epitaph is an excerpt from Samson Agonistes by John Milton. I recommend you read the whole thing, it's really quite beautiful. For clarity, the poem is about<em>_ a man who has been betrayed by love and has to admit to himself that grand ideals he once held of being a savior and hero have been ruined...and not only that but they have been ruined by his own hand. __He seeks a place of repose. And the suffering comes in when he realizes that this place he is in gives rest to his body but only makes his mental anguish worse. __In fact, the solitude exacerbates his emotional turmoil because being alone leaves him nothing to do but to dwell upon his past. I think this parallels Selena's suffering really well and just found it to be very appropriate. Hope you agree :)_

_**REVIEW, please :)**_


	18. Chapter 17, Kingkiller

**_The Red Rider⸺the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN._**

_Welcome to the real world where people are not all good or bad. Ugh. Battle scenes bore me, but I had to do this. Not a lot of room for creativity in this chapter since I'm sticking to canon, but I did what I could. But it's super long, so yay for that! (:_

_Xoxo—ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 18, Kingkiller<em>

Thorn hummed contently as he flew. This would be his first battle. He did not care for the main affray for he found it beneath him to fight footmen, but he was excited to see another dragon and see if his skills matched hers. All that I had told about Eragon and Saphira had amused him and he was optimistic that they could be convinced to come back with us to serve Galbatorix.

Finally, after flying several hours and covering several leagues, a thick, low brown cloud appeared on the edge of the horizon. We had reached the Burning Plains. As we flew on, the cloud grew wider and longer until it obscured the entire landscape beneath a pall of foul vapors.

The fumes thickened as we descended, making my eyes smart and Thorn cough violently. He made his way toward the tumescent Jiet River that cut the desolate landscape in half. Over the river, the air was cleaner and cooler. But the water appeared chalky white, opaque and ghostly white, glowing with an eerie, unnatural luminescence all on its own.

I cast a spell to ease Thorn's labored breathing and protect my eyes for the vapours.

Through the smoke, I could see the two opposing armies entrenched along the banks of the waterway. To the south were the Varden and the troops of Surda. Their numbers paled in comparison to the size of the force amassed to the north. The King's army was so large I could not fully see where it ended for the individual men melded into a shadowy mass in the distance.

As I watched, the bodies of the armies dashed against each other, again and again.

The vista of carnage before me did not look true. Everything was bathed in a lurid red glow, while the rippling black and crimson vapors made the landscape a shimmering mirage, as if I were looking upon some grand painting like the many that littered the King's study, of a famous battleground in the throes of a fight. Every scrap of vegetation had been scorched from the parched soil, except for growths of black, orange, and chartreuse lichen that, from the air, gave the earth a scabbed and infected appearance, just like the corpses that were scattered upon it.

The water had turned red from the blood pouring into it from the battle; it frothed and flecked as it rushed by, sometimes sweeping a body away with its powerful current.

In the midst of the affray, I could see Saphira, frenzied in her fighting, lashing out at one then another legion of Imperial troops. She had become quite deadly. Atop her, Eragon alternated between smiting down soldiers with magic and by his sword. He seemed to be systematically searching out the magi interspersed among the Empire's soldiers and defeating them in order to efficaciously destroy their respective squadrons.

They were faring well for their numbers, but their dwindling numbers were quickly tiring. I could see Eragon marked by countless minor injuries—his wards must have been depleted. He was covered in blood, mostly Saphira's. And lo and behold, she was certainly a sight to see. Her mouth was torn in the corners. Scores of swords and arrows cut her unprotected wings. Whenever she moved, she showered her fellow soldiers with giant droplets of her blood that seared them where they landed, like ruby-red coals.

As I watched, a javelin imbedded itself in a plate of her armor even as I watched; Eragon had seen the spear coming and tried to deflect it with a spell but was too slow to protect her.

As the sun began its descent in the sky, Thorn and I rose above the fray.

I alerted a sentinel to mark my approach.

Soon thereafter, a horn echoed from the rear of the Empire's army, followed by another and then another. The peals of a sonorous drum rang across the battleground. The Varden's forces were momentarily rendered motionless by confusion.

We rose far above the crowd and finally as we escaped the shroud of the clouds, I could see Eragon's aghast face as a ray of sunlight illuminated me to his keen eye.

The imperial soldiers cheered and fought with renewed energy, buoyed by my appearance.

All across the ground, my mind came in contact with a flood of consciousnesses. None of them were as vast as the minds within my elundarya, which were strapped to my chest in a harness that hid them from view—but thousands of thoughts, images, and sensations bombarded my mind.

I saw us as the world saw us: _Thorn, glowing and sparkling in the sun's beams like a bed of blood-red coals. His monstrous wings, the color of oxblood, buffeted the crowd below in his wake. His crimson, cat-like eyes held a restless anticipation, an unsated thirst for the fight. His claws and teeth and the spikes along his spine were a luminous white. On his back was rigidly sat a man garbed in burnished armor, armed with a sword. He sat ramrod straight, pride emanating from every fiber of his being._

I could feel Thorn's heart racing in glee and eagerness as he beheld his opponent for the first time. She was bigger than him, but not by much. And considering their state, their defeat was inevitable.

I felt the soldiers below us lower their arms to watch us battle. I could sense all the Varden holding their breath as I flew toward them, unknowing what my intentions were; wondering certainly if this marked the end of their resistance; if Eragon could defeat me.

If they wanted to know, I would show them what I was capable of.

My eyes searched the crowd for a target worthy of my might and I found the Dwarf King, a lone figure in the midst of his clan. Beside him, fighting valiantly, I found Orik. I hesitated: Orik had been good to me; killing one of his clan—his King no less, would destroy and ties of loyalty or compassion he felt toward me.

_It doesn't matter. You will be unmasked at some point and Eragon will renounce you and then any loyalties you were afforded with the Varden will be dissolved._

In any case, deferment was something I could not afford. When I returned, if Galbatorix discovered my reluctance to smote my former allies, he would force me to swear so many additional oaths that Thorn and I wouldn't be allowed to relieve ourselves without his permission.

At my resolution, Thorn glided toward the Dwarf army.

As I raised my hand and summoned the power from my eldunarya, I felt the familiar rush of power and energy flowing into me, filling me with a heady giddy feeling, as if I'd drunk too much mead. As I uttered the lines to smite the King where he stood, my skin tingled as an enormous rush of energy poured through me, like a river of water both hot and cold, accompanied by the harried whispers of the coerced eldunarya.

A bolt of bright-red energy spread from my palm and hit Hrothgar in his chest. His eyes widened in shock as all around him, his dwarf spellcasters fell, shrieking in agony as their efforts to protect him consumed them. They collapsed all around him, like a chain-reaction and finally, Hrothgar clutched his chest and fell.

I smiled grimly.

_Now, war has been declared._

A great groan rose from the Varden, especially the dwarves several of whom set up loud, keening cries of grief as his body was hurried from the field.

_They will never forgive me._

_Are you prepared for the implications of killing him?_

_All but one._

"_NO!_" I heard Eragon's cry above everyone else, so acutely, I must have been listening for it. But my eyes were not on him. They were sweeping the crowd for that familiar lithe figure, dressed in black…_ah, there._

She was garbed in black and silver armor, dressed like a man again, outfitted with a thin sword and a bow. Her face was grimy with blood and sweat. But her expression, one of shock at Hrothgar's sudden demise, suddenly changed as she looked away from the dwarves to me: it was calculating, guarded, and suspicious.

_Did she recognize me? _I was wearing a helm so my face was not visible, but I would not have been surprised if she had recognized me anyway.

Saphira's furious roar jolted me back to my surroundings.

Thorn rose again into the air and Nasuada's form was becoming quickly small as we left the ground behind.

"Orik, take command of your kinsmen!" I heard Eragon shout across the field.

Saphira propelled herself toward us, her wings pumping furiously to reach us.

_What fun,_ Thorn remarked gaily.

Smiling, I pressed my mouth to the back of his neck. _Take care, friend of my heart._

Before they reached us, I felt Saphira reach across the vast space between us with her thoughts. Murderous they were. Filling with a fury I had never seen in her, she screamed at Thorn, _Traitor! Egg breaker, oath breaker, murderer!_

Then as one, she and Eragon tried to invade our minds. I could sense their attack: blunt like a child's stumpy fingers attempting to pry open a door. It was a clumsy, unsubtle assault. And utterly against my well-defended mind was, augmented by the Eldunarí as it was.

I summoned the eldunarya's power again and, in the brief moment that they paused to renew their attack, retaliated. Explosively, I released the power of the eldunarya and directed it the cracks in the Eragon's psyche.

Eragon reeled backward frantically raising walls, retreating deep behind his own barriers, dumbly reciting a scrap of doggerel to protect his mind from invasion, echoed by Saphira.

I laughed baldly.

Saphira's rage returned and launched herself toward us. Thorn braced for impact, trying to array himself so that he could roll around herself.

_CRASH!—_the sound on impact was deafening, like two mountains colliding head-on.

Our dragons grappled with each other, kicking out at each other with their hind legs. Their talons screeched and shrieked as they grated against each other's armor and scales. Thorn managed to displace Saphira for a moment before they closed in on each other again, straining to get their jaws around each other's necks.

I relented my mental attacked as we began to lose altitude until, barely a few body lengths from the ground, Thorn managed to disengage Saphira and repel her several hundred yards. I could see Eragon struggling to keep ahold as they tumbled away.

Regaining her bearings, Saphira reared her head, like a cobra and released a jet of fire toward us. We had the upper hand and I did not want to retreat to avoid it so I cast a spell to insulate us, enjoying the warmth as the fire passed innocuously around us.

As Thorn opened his maw to retaliate, Eragon cried, "_Skölir nosu fra brisingr!_" The conflagration swirled around them in a harmless miasma. It did not scorch Saphira, but I saw that the effort sapped their combined strengths.

As the smoke cleared, the dragons engaged again, Thorn chased Saphira through the streams of smoke both organic and dragon-made into the clear air above the plans. As Saphira attempted to pivot, Thorn managed to bite her tail. She wrenched away with a cry of pain, circling around behind us.

Slowly, our aerial acrobatics increased in fervor and complexity. Although Eragon did not attempt to engage me mentally again, I toyed with him, waiting until he was sufficiently distracted either by the fighting on the ground below or by Thorn to take another stab at his mind.

I did not catch much. He was so desperate to protect his mind that Eragon had closed it off to all contact, friend and enemy.

Finally, perhaps realizing that he could not gain the upper hand, he stood up in his saddle on Saphira's back and stepped off the edge of her back. Thorn sent a stream of fire up at him from where we flew below. He plummeted through it, magically insulated, and as he descended to our altitude, he reached out with his sword and jabbed it into Thorn's hindleg as Saphira descended to catch him below us.

Thorn abruptly stopped breathing fire as Eragon managed to tear his leg open deep into the sinew. As he roared angrily, I felt echoes of his pain along my own leg.

Furious now, Thorn dived down to meet them, hurtling at her from above, harrying her this way and that as he forced her toward the ground. Saphira tried to maneuver out from under him, but as she did, he snapped and buffeted her with his wings in order to force to stay her course.

All things considered, Sahpira was giving us a fair fight though the same could not be said of Eragon. Our dragons lunged and assaulted each other until their tongues lolled out of their mouths and their tails hung limp, and they gave up flying and they were merely gliding. Every breath he took sent Thorn heaving, gasping, and panting for a respite.

All at once, Saphira descended to the nearest flat open area, a small stone plateau set along the western edge of the Jiet River.

_He chooses to engage you in combat on foot._

_I welcome it. It has been a long while since I have anticipated such a easy and utter victory._

Thorn flew past them and settled on the opposite side of the plateau. He held his left hind leg off the ground to avoid aggravating his wound, his whole body trembling. As he landed, he snarled incensedly at Eragon.

_Be calm_, I soothed him, sliding down his uninjured side and healing the wound with a few words.

_Your turn._

As I turned to face him, unsheathing my sword, Eragon stepped forward to meet me. Slowly, cautiously, we approached each other at the center of the plateau as Saphira and Thorn paced restlessly behind us.

Eragon's eyes roved curiously over my form, searching for a clue as to my identity.

My eyes raked over him. His appearance had changed entirely. He didn't remotely human anymore. His face was now as smooth and angled like an elf's, with ears tapered and eyes slanted like theirs. His skin had turned a deathly white, like a Shade's.

I felt as though I did not even know him. Where these change approaching me as well, or had he fallen victim to some freak accident?

With a terrible, manical smile that I saw reflected in his eyes, I raised my sword and with both hands swung it over my head toward him. Our blades met in a burst of crimson and blue sparks; the impact jarred us and threw Eragon back several feet. He paused for a moment and then ran at me, beginning a complex series of blows that raised a terrible din as we raged back and forth.

I was curious to see if Eragon had improved his swordsmanship so I let him fight freely, doing little more than defending myself. Instead of throwing myself into the fray, I fought him from a distance, dodging, sidestepping on light feet. He stabbed and parried, slow and heavy-footed, herding me to the edge of the plateau.

At the edge, I held my ground—I had no intention to losing—fending off his attacks effortlessly, blue sparks flying from the metal as our blades grated against one another, until I noticed Eragon's initial burst of energy subsiding.

I forced him back across the plateau in a blur of motion that sent him reeling to keep up. He had improved since we had last fought, but even as elfin as he had become, he could not gain an advantage. I parried and batted aside his sword. Instead of taking advantage of the opening, I struck at his other side, continuing to test. He barely blocked the blow.

It was disappointing to see such a subpar swordsman at the forefront of the resistance. The Varden's charge had no hope for success at all.

The unrelenting fury of my blows whipped my hair into tangled disarray. His face grew red with the exertion of his movements and his muscles trembled until, at last, he mistepped and fell. As he fell, he stabbed out with his sword.

I knocked it aside with a lazy flourish as if it were no more than a vexsome fly.

_How swift is your sword._

Eragon lay on the ground, panting heavily, but as he did, his expression changed from haggard to increasing horror as he saw me spin my sword. He scrutinized my hand-and-half sword and I saw the realization dawn in his eyes.

"I know you!" He screamed at me and launched himself at me.

We wrestled for several seconds, my sword trapped between our bodies, until I realized it no better to be unmasked later rather than sooner. Eragon hooked his fingers underneath my helm, and ripped it off.

Upon seeing my face, the color left his face.

I grinned at him, sensing Thorn loom behind me in solidarity. With a wave of my hand, I sent Eragon flying some twenty feet against the plateau. He landed hard on his back and did not attempt to rise. Instead, he curled into a ball as if that would protect him.

I walked up to him and nicked him under the chin with my sword. _Dead. _"You never would give up."

"How can you be a-alive?" He stammered. "I watched the Urgals drag you underground. I tried to scry you but saw only darkness."

"No," I corrected him. "You saw nothing, just as I saw nothing the times I tried to scry you in Urû'baen."

"You died!" shouted Eragon, sounding quite mad, almost incoherent with emotion. "You died under Farthen Dûr! Arya found your bloody clothes in the tunnels!"

"It was a ruse. It was the Twins. They took control of a group of Urgals and arranged the ambush in order to kill Ajihad and capture me to return me to the King. Then they ensorcelled me so I could not escape and spirited me off to Urû'baen."

He shake his head, as if he still could not believe his eyes. "But why did you agree to serve Galbatorix? You told me you hated him. You told me—"

"_Agree?_" I shouted. "I did no such thing. Upon my return, Galbatorix punished me for spiting his years of protection during my upbringing in Urû'baen, for defying his will and running away. Then he extracted everything I knew about you, Saphira, and the Varden."

"You betrayed us! I was mourning you, and you-you betrayed us!" He cried.

"I had no choice," I muttered.

Eragon looked disgusted. "Ajihad was right to lock you up. He should have let you rot in your cell, then none of this—"

"I had no choice!" I snarled. "And after Thorn hatched for me, Galbatorix forced both of us to swear loyalty to him in the ancient language. We cannot disobey him now."

He sneered at me. "You have become your father."

He must have thought this would disarm me, but having visited his fortress and grave in the Spine I know this to be only a half-truth.

"No," I said calmly. "Not my father. I'm stronger than Morzan ever was. I have powers and magic he could only have dreamt of. Galbatorix taught me things about magic you've never even dared to think of. Spells so powerful, the elves dare not utter them, cowards that they are. Words in the ancient language that were lost until Galbatorix discovered them. Secrets, _terrible secrets_, that can destroy your enemies and fulfill all your desires."

"Things that should remain secrets," Eragon shot back.

"If you knew, you would not say that. There is no good and evil, Eragon. There is only power, and those too foolish to seek it. The foolish do not seek power and the weak envy us for it. Tying yourself to either will only cause you to fall. Brom was a dabbler, nothing more. And the elves—all they do is hide in their forest and wait to be conquered."

I didn't expect him to understand. The diet of propaganda the Varden and the elves had fed him had probably brainwashed him as well as Galbatorix's punishments had conditioned me.

"You look like an elf now. Did Islanzadí do that to you?"

He remained silent, a look of mulish defiance on his visage.

I shrugged, amused by his childishness. "No matter. I'll learn the truth soon enough."

Suddenly there was an explosion to the east. It caught my eye and when I looked forth, I could see the Twins standing at the forefront of the amassed Imperial troops. Cackling gleefully and backlit by curtains of smoke, they stood boldly casting balls of fire and electric energy into the midst of the Varden and the dwarves, wreaking havoc.

Eragon started and where he was watching I noticed a young man, his body pressed quite low to the ground, crawling toward the Twins from the side. They could not see him approach but we could see him quite plainly. His countenance was similar to that of Eragon's, or at least, similar to how Eragon's human face had appeared.

"No!" Eragon cried and he screwed up his eyes, presumably to spirit the man away.

"Wait," I said calmly. "I want to see what he'll do."

"Why?" Eragon asked suspiciously.

_Because it would do more to restore me than perhaps anything else. _"The Twins enjoyed tormenting me when I was their captive," I told him in a would-be cavalier voice.

"You won't hurt him? You won't warn the Twins?"

_Ha, I was more likely to join him. _"Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shur'tugal." _Upon my word as a Rider._

_Galbatorix will not be pleased_, Thorn reminded me.

_They deserve no better_, I thought viciously. _They're brute, lower than animals, lower than the Ra'zac._

As we watched as the man hid behind a mound of bodies. One of the Twins peered in his direction for a moment before casting anothing spell. As he looked away however the man jumped up and smashed his hammer into the head of the first Twin, cracking open his skull. The other bald man fell to the ground, screaming incoherently until he, too, met a similar end.

_I wish I could string their heads on a pike outside the castle gates and paint my face with their blood. I promised myself they would never break me and I have withstood them. Thorn, you cannot know how cathartic this is._

_Of course, I know._

"What now?" Eragon demanded, turning away from the battlefield to me once again. For those few moments I had forgotten he was my enemy now. "Are you here to kill me?"

"Of course not. Galbatorix wants you alive."

"What for?"

I smirked. "Do not flatter yourself. It is not because of you; it is because of her. " I nodded at Saphira. "The dragon inside Galbatorix's last egg, the last dragon egg in the world, is male. Saphira is the only female dragon in existence. If she breeds, she will be the mother of her entire race."

A furious scowl contorted his features.

"Galbatorix doesn't want to eradicate the dragons. He wants to use Saphira to rebuild the Riders. He can't kill you, either of you, if his vision is to become reality," I told him matter-of-factly. "You should hear him describe it. Is it evil that he wants to unite Alagaësia under a nationality and restore the Riders?"

_"He's the one who destroyed the Riders in the first place!"_

"They were old, fat, and corrupt," I snapped. "The elves controlled them and used them to subjugate the humans. They had to be overthrown so that we could start anew."

With a tremendous effort, Eragon shed his impatience and spoke, "How can you justify causing so much suffering on the basis of a madman's ravings? Galbatorix has done nothing but _burn and slaughter and amass power for himself. _He lies. He _murders_. He manipulates! _You know this!_ It's why you refused to work for him in the first place."

"I have no choice. So I may as well alter the fate of humanity as I can."

Eragon paused, then, adopting a gentler tone, said, "I can understand that you were compelled to act against your will and that you weren't responsible for killing Hrothgar."

_Well, I didn't say that._

"You can try to escape though. I'm sure that Arya and I could devise a way to neutralize the bonds Galbatorix has laid upon you. Join us, Murtagh! You could do so much for the Varden. With us, you would be praised and admired, instead of cursed, feared, and hated."

I stared at him. Even he had to hear how empty his words sounded. We both knew I would never be revered as a hero. And neither he nor Arya could save us.

"You cannot help me. No one, but Galbatorix can release us from our oaths, and he will never do that. He knows our true names, Eragon," I said sadly, thinking of Thorn. "We are his slaves forever."

"Then let us kill the two of you."

"Kill us!" I laughed mirthlessly. "And why should we allow that?"

He spoke passionately. "It would free you from Galbatorix's control. And it would save the lives of hundreds, if not thousands, of people. Isn't that a noble enough cause to sacrifice yourself for?"

_Didn't he know me at all?_

I chuckled. "Perhaps it is enough for you, but life is still too sweet for me to part with it so easily. No stranger's life is more important than Thorn's or my own."

I saw the resolve form in his eyes and even as he began to move, I was ready. He leapt forward, both feet leaving the ground as he lunged forward, intending to stab me through the heart.

_"Letta!"_ I barked.

There was a flash of light and Eragon dropped back to the ground as invisible bands clamped around his arms and legs, locking his limbs together. In response, Saphira discharged a jet of rippling fire, springing forward.

_"Rïsa!"_

She yelped in surprise as the incantation stopped her mid-jump and froze her in place several feet above the sandy ground. No matter how violently she struggled, she could not touch the ground, nor could she fly any higher.

"Now, Eragon, I'm going to teach you a little lesson. Let's match the powers of Murtagh, son of Morzan, godson of Galbatorix against the famous Eragon Shadeslyer and the best the Varden can afford him."

Eragon struggled against his invisible binding. Finding no release, he roared, "_Brakka du vanyalí sem huildar Saphira un eka!" _Baring his teeth at me, Eragon redoubled his efforts, struggling wildly and launching a concentrated mental assault. A vein throbbed in his forehead and his face went pale.

Thirty seconds…

Sweat poured down his face. Blood dripped from his lip where he had bit through the skin and not noticed. Involuntary tremors racked his body.

A minute…

I stared blankly at him. _Did he not realize I could keep this up almost indefinitely?_

Two minutes…

Blood thudded in my ears as the flow of the eldunarya's energy ran through me until_—_at last_—_he was forced to release the magic and he finally gave in, panting like a mad dog. When he looked at me again, there was fear in his eyes.

_Eragon does not learn quickly, _Thorn observed dryly. _Perhaps, it is better that they do not want to join us. He does not appear to be very bright._

"You cannot hope to compete with me. No one can, except for Galbatorix." I walked to him and knelt so that we were face-to-face. "It would be so easy to spirit you both back to Urû'baen."

"Please don't. Let us go."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why would I do that? You just tried to kill me."

"And you would have done the same in my position. Murtagh," he pleaded. "We were friends once. We fought together. Galbatorix can't have twisted you so much that you've forgotten our friendship. If you do this, Murtagh, you'll be lost to him"

Blood let from Eragon's neck from where my sword point had cut him. I watched the blood trickle down his neck.

I didn't care for him. He was so quick to dismiss me because of what had been done to me, brushing aside the fact that I'd had no say over what had happened to me. I resented him for his freedom. Although, if I'd had the choice, I probably would not have joined the Varden. I would have preferred to flee and live in reclusion and anonymity.

She could have persuaded me to stay and fight for her. She alone.

_Why are you hesitating?_

_I can't do it. I have tried to remain impartial. I cannot be the ultimate villain. If Galbatorix wants Saphira so badly, let him get her himself._

_We will burn for this._

_Will you forgive me?_

_Only if you are honest with yourself. You don't care about Eragon or Saphira, or the fate of the empire. There are only three people you care about: Nasuada, yourself, and me. And you know that if you capture Eragon today, Nasuada will never be yours._

Saphira lashed her tail in helpless rage.

"_Fine_," I spat through gritted teeth. "I was ordered to try and capture you and Saphira. I _have_ tried. Ensure we don't cross paths again. Galbatorix will have me swear additional oaths in the ancient language and I will not be so merciful again." I lowered his sword.

"You're doing the right thing," said Eragon.

I scoffed. As if that mattered to me.

He tried to move, but was still held in place by my spell.

"Before I take my leave, I would like my due." I reached out and pried my father's blade from his fist and its sheath from his belt. "A son cannot choose his father, but if I have become mine, then I will have my father's blade. Thorn is my dragon, and a thorn he shall be to all our enemies. It is only right, then, that I should also wield the sword of Misery." I held it in the air so that the sun glinted off its blood-red blade menacingly. "Misery and Thorn, a appropriate match, don't you think?"

Eragon said nothing.

"Besides," I said as an aside, reveling in the blow I would deal with my words. "Zar'roc should have gone to Morzan's eldest son, not his youngest. It is mine by right of birth."

A horrified expression appeared on his face. "No," he mouthed silently.

I smiled. "I never told you my mother's name. And you never told me yours. I'll say it now: Selena was my mother and your mother. Morzan was our father. The Twins figured out the connection while they were rooting around in your head. The King was quite interested to learn that particular piece of information, as was I."

"_You're lying_!" Eragon cried.

I repeated my words in the ancient language so that he could see their truth. I could see the information tormented him.

_Good, I hope it agonizes him as it did me._

"You and I, we are the same. Mirror images of one another. You can't deny it. There are strange likenesses between us, Eragon Morzansson. I, Murtagh Kingkiller. Even you must have noticed. Both orphans. Both of us have a hand in killing our de facto fathers. The first two Riders since the Forsworn. We even look something alike. And now, you know why."

"You're wrong," growled Eragon, still struggling pointlessly against the spell. "We're nothing alike. I don't have a scar on my back anymore."

"Congratulations," I said coolly. "And perhaps you are right. We are still different after all. If you were truly my brother, you would not have lost so easily." I sheathed Zar'roc. "Renege your blood if you will, Eragon, it doesn't change it. I take my inheritance from you, brother. Farewell."

Retrieving my helm, I pulled myself onto Thorn without a backward glance. Thorn took off and I left them there, still bound by my eldunarya's magic, until the horizon disappeared us from view.

Back on the battleground, I saw the Varden had been able to successfully gain ground and rout Imperial soldiers to the river or backward after the defeat of the Twins. The empire was sounding their retreat to prepare for another future invasion of Surda. It was a small defeat. The Empire might have lost the battle today, but _I_ had certainly won.

As the armies bifurcated, they left behind piles of corpses that stained the orange grainy land of the plain into a dark, red, mottled landscape, enough to populate several cities. In the absence of the fighting, scavengers, gore-crows, and vultures were circling above and descending, attracted by the smell of freshly split blood.

_There is no honor in war_, I decided. I could not believe that life possessed any inherent meaning, not after seeing the carnage that was left behind, the dirt so wet with blood it soaked through the soles of my boots. If any honor remained, it was in fighting to protect the ones I loved.

And that I would do, whatever the price.

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><p><em>I was watching Eragon the movie in case it would inspire me. Gosh, it's horrible. Like really, SO BAD. My god.<em>

_**REVIEW, pretty please :)**_


	19. Chapter 18, Revelations

**_The Red Rider – the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN._**

_WOOOOOHOOOOO⸺100 REVIEWS! YOU GUYS ROCK!_

_Seriously, what **was** Murtagh doing during all of Eldest and Brisingr when Eragon and Saphira were with Glaedr and Oromis? This is the largest gap in his story. Hopefully, I'll fill it to your satisfaction. And Happy 4th of July!_

_Xoxo —ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

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><p><em>Chapter 18, Revelations<em>

"Ah, Murtagh. Come, I have been expecting you."

I stepped away from the shadows of the room into its center. We were in Galbatorix' study. It was a large, spacious, gloomy room. Every wall was covered from floor to ceiling with rows upon rows of heavy, thick, voluminous tomes some covered in runes foreign even to me.

"I was expecting you sooner," he said, tonelessly, his back still to me.

True; it should have only taken a few days to return to the capital. But every league closer and my heart had weighed me down with a terrible dread. We had openly defied Galbatorix; no, _I _had defied him—Thorn had not done anything wrong—but at what price? So, we had progressed slowly, reluctantly, but finally, inevitably, inexorably in a few weeks' time I found us at Urû'baen.

Everywhere we went, we had seen amassed evidence of the war that was now afoot: encampments of soldiers, wagons full of supplies gathered into a bunch for the night, and lines of men with iron collars being led from their homes to fight on Galbatorix's behalf. The amount of resources deployed against the Varden was daunting indeed.

"Yes, my lord. I was delayed. We found it necessary to stay awhile and…" I did even not know what I was saying, but simply aware of my lips moving, meaningless words escaping me, my being shrouded in an anticipatory horror that any moment might be my last—or worse, Thorn's.

Luckily, he did not seem to be paying attention to my incoherent rambling. "Come forward, Murtagh."

I had insisted that Thorn not accompany me to meet Galbatorix. He was in the dragon keep adjacent to the castle, though he was as much with me as he ever was.

At last, he turned to face me and I was surprised to see his visage lit by a triumphant. It did not suit his face, distorting his features in a horrible, gleeful grimace. "You will appreciate this. You always understand the lure of the interminable pursuit of knowledge."

He smiled what he evidently thought was a fond, paternal manner. "You will remember from your studies of magic that I told you that the more thorough your knowledge of words of the Ancient language was your only constraint as to the lengths of your magic."

"Yes. And Thorn and I have striven to leave no page unturned to learn much as we can."

_What's happening? _Thorn wondered to me. _Why is he is acting this way. I was expecting his violent wrath, not this doting amiability._

_I know not._

"I always suspected this theory to be woefully simplistic and this day I have found proof to the contrary. When I studied under the Riders, and even before then there were times when I used magic without vocalizing my intentions. The elves are known to be largely magical folk though the most of them can hardly be called expert spell-casters. No, I suspected that there must be more to the nature of magic. And there is.

In the Rider war, I found that having not finished my studies, I had been precluded from learning a final secret of the Riders. That, though having mastered every other aspect of magic I did not understand or know of its the true nature of magic and the ancient language. The common man thinks that words of the ancient language can release the energy stored within your body and thus activate a spell, but sounds are naught but vibrations that might be produced at random by any creature or any idiot. To me, that seemed absurd and left magic wildly vulnerable to violation.

"Eventually, the course of my own individual studies and my careful inspection of the minds of those I subdued from the way, I discovered that mere sound has no control over magic. Thinking a spell just as well accomplishes magic. However, unless the need is dire, we still utter our spells out loud to prevent stray thoughts from disrupting them. And as we know the volatile state of eldunarya, I'm sure you know as well as I the price of letting a spell go awry."

"Indeed, master. But all this, I already know."

_Could it be that he does not yet know what we have done?_

_How could that be possible? Our arrival to Urû'baen_ _is well delayed. Even the troops on foot should have arrived yet._

"Of course, of course. Patience, Murtagh. In the course of my inquiry, I realized that we ourselves are not the source of magic, nor the elves, nor any other race. For how can we be, as magic exists unbounded and uncontained in the werelights in the bogs by Aroughs; the dream well in Mani's Caves in the Beor Mountains; the floating crystal of Eoam. And a time ago, all magic was thus and to use it required nothing but the ability to sense magic with the mind. But chaos often occurred without the ability of magicians to self-govern their talent and magic.

And so, texts tell me that a race called the Grey Folk cast a spell that changed the nature of magic itself. They made it so that the ancient language controlled what a spell does, severely limiting magic so that if you said burn that door and by chance looked at me and thought of me, the magic would still burn the door, not me. The spell also prevented its speakers from lying in the tongue, as we say."

He drew a deep, shuddering breath. The tip of his tongue moistened his lips as he seemed to prepare himself for what he was about to say.

"Now, you know that to change an object with magic requires the use of its name, or variant or a derivative. Does it not follow then that the spell that the Grey Folk wrought would require the use of the very name of magic, of the Ancient language?"

"It does, sire."

_No one enjoys giving the King bad news. Perhaps, they have dallied in reporting your pardon of Eragon. Or perhaps, the imperial troops thought you were defeated._

_Not even the soldiers could have mistaken what they saw. I'll wager it is the first reason. I wonder how long our luck will hold. If he has not received a report from his generals, he'll elicit one from me before long._

"And, you know, I am sure that to know the true name of an object or being, gives you power of it." His smile was haughty. "I control you and Thorn, of course, through your names. But even for objects, their name is the key to bending them to my will. Yes?"

"Yes," I said shortly, unhappily recalling what Eragon had said.

He held out his hand to explicate further and barked, "_Arget!_" A fine sheen of silver mist appeared in the room and at a gesture, it swirled around Galbatorix' directive hand until it formed a set of gleaming, white-hot manacles that clattered to the floor.

"Then, I concluded that to know the name of the Ancient language would thereby give me power over the whole of the language and by extension…_everything!_ As, you well know, the language bears the innate ability to describe the true nature of things. Now, there remain but fragments of manuscripts that survived the era, but who or what cast the fatal spell is hidden from us. But careful research has yielded a glorious discovery."

And without warning, he shouted in the Ancient language. Instinctively, I recoiled and lifted a hand, as if to shield myself, though what from?

I felt the familiar thrill as I felt when he uttered my True Name. But these words were different. They were the truth. And I saw that everything around glittered and fluttered in a fine shimmering, golden mist, appearing as ghostly images, but somehow purer and with a inner luminescent brilliance, as if reduced to their very essence, like the silver before.

I could not understand the words he had uttered and if I tried to recall them, the syllables distorted and escaped my mind, as fruitlessly as if I had tried to grasp a fist full of water.

And as suddenly as the world had changed, it righted itself. And Galbatorix opened his eyes, seemingly releasing his magic and laughed jubilantly.

My mind was teeming with queries, as was Thorn's, still buzzing as I tried to make sense of what I had just witnessed with what I had been told.

"Does anyone know of this wyrd? The elves?"

"The elves, ha!" He said scathingly. "It is possible to swim all day in the sea of knowledge and still emerge bone-dry. The trivialities they distract themselves with amount to no more than a thimbleful to what I have accomplished. And you, my protégé will bear the rewards of my hard work in good time."

"I thank you, my liege."

My initial curiosity vanished and a sinking dread replaced it. If the Varden had sustained any shadow of a chance of overthrowing Galbatorix, that was gone now. This discovery would give the King immeasurable power over all. Thorn and I would never be free.

_But if he intends to teach it to us, then perhaps, you would become his equal. And we might still have a chance…_

Ever the optimist.

Distracted by my thoughts, I started when the King spoke again. And this time, his voice was quite unlike as it had been before. It voice was ice-cold.

"You have been very mischievous." He slowly wheeled around to face me. "Taubre has just returned," he said softly, and the familiar menace reappeared in his eyes. "And he bears interesting news…_Murtagh Kingkiller_."

I felt as though my stomach had dropped out of my abdomen to my feet. In his excitement, my own fears had temporarily escaped me.

_He knows! _Thorn's shock echoed along our connected psyches to me.

I could see the cold fury form in his heavily lidded eyes as he made sense of what he found in my mind with what he had been told. The cords in Galbatorix's neck stood out like a skein of twisted rope. A thick vein throbbed prominently on his brow.

"_You let them go?!_"

I felt the king's mind: a terrible, shadow-ridden vista swept with bitter cold and searing heat—ruled by unyielding, unswayable bars of iron—before the mad, howling, grief-stricken dragons that overran his consciousness attacked my mind. Thorn reeled as I threw up defense after defense, desperately trying to keep him at bay.

"Think you to challenge me, boy?" He snarled, fury infused in every syllable. "Think you to subvert me? To thwart my plans? I made you what you are. Without me, you would have perished a while ago, forgotten by most, and reviled by those others who deigned to recall you to their memories."

He stood directly in front of me now, a few inches were all that separated us. He drew back his hand and struck me on the cheek. I staggered backward, away from him, a constellation of throbbing, swirling crimson motes and flashing lights scattered among black appeared before my eyes.

"Think you, that I would not know your treachery, that I might forgive it?" Galbatorix, moving closer, until his gleaming eyes were mere inches from mine. "I can see now that I was too soft with you, too lenient. You need to be taught a lesson in humility, my _dear_ boy."

His eyes darted to my hip, to my sword. "Was this the reason for your insubordination?" He yanked the sword out of the sheath fixed to my side, and sliced the air with air in a lazy, languid manner that belied his previous anger. "Of course, the number of times I saw your father wield this weapon…it made him a worthy companion. And to you it should have been bequeathed."

_Do not let him know that was due to her. If he finds out that my affections persist, he will kill her, or worse yet._

_You know I would not let that happen._

His eyes rose to meet mine. "Was this the reason for your unlikely clemency? Do you, perhaps. find a kinship with the new Rider? _Eragon?_" He said the name contemptuously. "As they say, blood is thicker than water, and perhaps you felt your loyalty to your _brother_ was stronger than to I, he who reared you, educated you, mentored you."

_Murtagh, master the impulse to answer rudely. It could mean both of our necks._

Gritting my teeth, I bit back a cutting retort that he had, in fact, done nothing of those things. That, in fact, he had been responsible for the death the man who had. "No, master, of course not. He is nothing to me. I crave your pardon…"

_You know me better than I do._

_I should think so._

"Silence." He snapped, and the cold abruptness of the word cut like me like a whip. I had lost his favor, fallen out of his graces. "Your empty obsequities sicken me." Loyalty had never been one of his long withstanding characteristics.

He walked around me. I didn't dare stir to face him. For now, it seemed his anger was contained to me. He had not said anything about Thorn. I had never seen him so incensed; his rage, like Shruikan's, seemed to know no bounds. His eyes bulged.

"Did you know that this despicable worm, Eragon came to Helgrind? He has slain my Ra'zac! You fool! You released him for some twisted fraternal camaraderie and now…my servants are no more."

"He went…_what?_"

"Helgrind, daft boy!" Galbatorix shouted. "He and that blasted dragon of his have killed them all—the Ra'zac, the lethrblaka."

"But, surely, sire, that does not endanger your cause."

"Of course not," the King snarled. The Varden was not a serious threat to him, but rather more like an itch he could not satisfactorily scratch. "But you shall pay for his deeds tenfold. I told you to bring them to me and had you, the resistance would have been quelled. But now, they will feel emboldened. There will be uprisings that the soldiers will have put down. Even now, I hear, the elves are advancing on Ceunon. Lord Tarrant expects the city to be overpowered."

_Why would Eragon target Helgrind? We did not sense even a whisper of such plans in our encounter._

I repeated Thorn's query aloud.

"Vengence, loyalty," Galbatorix answered carelessly. "I care not why, but that he did. He was not alone neither. Their intention, I believe, was to rescue one of the prisoners. The Ra'zac have been, until recently, cavorting around Eragon's place of birth, a woebegone village that borders the Spine in hopes that finding the remnants of his family might place the Empire in a favorable position in this ungainly war. Instead, they captured the wife of his brother."

Eragon's half-brother…Roran, the man who had killed the Twins. I was not ashamed to admit, I was pleased at his victory.

_Be careful._

"My lord, if there had been a whisper…I was constantly on the alert," I said swiftly. "Had there been any sign from him, any whisper of their plans, I would have dispatched myself to the Ra'zac's lair. Nothing could have prevented me—"

"Straighten your tongue, _snake!"_ He growled. "You failed! And soon they will uncover the truth of the Eldunarí. I have long suspected that someone must be instructing Eragon and his dragon on the ways of the Riders and in the subtleties of magic. If not, he would have appeared as inexperienced in your battle as he was in your last encounter. I have my suspicions on who it might and once he hears about Eragon's encounter, it will be clear that the Eldunarí are what sustain us."

He looked back at the sword in his hand. "Perhaps it is better that you strove so hard to reclaim this artifact of your bloodline. It will make my lesson all the more memorable. And this time, you will remember not to cross me. That I am not tolerant of mistakes made, especially those that were _avoidable_."

"Master…"

"Turn around, Murtagh."

Slowly, with great trepidation, I did. My jaws clenched and my hands curled into fists as I waited whatever punishment he saw fit to lay on me. Corporal punishment I could bear. The mental anguish he wreaked was substantially more difficult to withstand, but, still, tolerable if only just so.

But at that moment, my back erupted in an agony so intense, I experienced with every sense of my being. The acrid, metallic taste of adrenaline flooding my sense as my body fought to survive the pain; the deafening sound of someone screaming uncontrollably—_me_, I realized with a jolt a moment later; the array of multi-colored lights that flickered into being before my eyes as the scene before dissolved.

_Murtagh!_ I heard Thorn's concern echo in mind, but his voice, it seemed to fade and withdraw until I could no longer reach him.

A hundred white-hot knives seemed to be drawing runes along my back, sawing me gleefully in half. A thousand excruciating needle points buried themselves along my skin, each Sethr-coated point a new agony. Whether it was for hours or mere moments I did not know; but it seemed as if I had never known anything but this pain, as if it was all that made up the past and the future. Enduring, unending, and forever.

-x-

I became aware of myself slowly. First that my face was pressed against some cold stone. Second, that sweat and some heavier liquid, perhaps blood, covered me all over. A drop of it rolled into my eye, stringing and blurring my vision.

Slowly, I stirred, each movement drawing my breath heavy and pained. Echoes of the pain, reminded me it had not been some remarkably vivid and terrible dream. It took me several minutes before I could force myself to stand; I was panting as if I had sprinted several kilometers.

I was my room.

I felt very warm, uncomfortably hot even, all over. I probed my body gingerly, searching for physical injuries, and seemed to be in fine shape until I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror.

My face was haggard, as if I had aged several years in a few days. My movements seemed exaggeratedly slow. Even my mind seemed to working at an excruciatingly slow pace, so that I stared utterly bewildered like a simpleton at my reflection for several moments, trying to reconcile it with the fit specimen I knew myself to be.

_You have not seen the worst of it._

I jumped slightly, groaning as the pain surged into greater prominence. "You are back." I was surprised to hear my voice; it had a raw growling quality, as if I had screamed myself into hoarseness…

Thorn's head was poking into my chamber through the divide that separated my room from his keep.

_It is my greatest regret that I allowed you to convince me not to attend your meeting with the King. As soon as I had returned, I was sent out to patrol near Dras-Leona and Leona Lake. I confess, I am ashamed that I was not with you during this ordeal. I did not know, I promise you, and by then it was too late. I would not have left otherwise, but the King swore me to newer, more stringent oaths and I do not doubt he will do the same with you before long._

I laid silently against his snout. _I am glad you did. You should not have to suffer for my decisions. Let your guilt be assuaged, for I would do it in an instant, and rest assured, I will do it again if the need arises…but what did you mean, 'the worst'?_

_Take aside your chemise._

_I say, Thorn, are you attempting to seduce me? I assure you I am not one to take liberties with so easily._

But Thorn did not smile at my jesting words and quickly I disrobed, spinning in front of the mirror behind the wash basin until—

I reached back and gingerly fingered the top of my scar, the scar my father had left to me, upon me. It was hot and inflamed and sensitive to the touch. As if it were a new injury and still healing.

"I-I…don't understand."

_He means to teach you subordination. If we act again like we did, you will anew experience the pain of this injury._

_Even in battle? That would endanger you and me, as well as his cause!_

_I suppose that is exactly why he thinks you would not dare risk disobeying him again._

I climbed from his foreleg to his should to the hollow at the column of her neck, and settled myself into place; the climb though I had done it countless times before exhausted me. My hands on either side of his neck, with every breath I was risen and lowered with his body.

Thorn hummed happily.

There was a small commotion in the form of a soldier entering my room. He froze as he saw I was atop Thorn, and I saw his eyes narrowed in fear.

"Your highness," he bowed deeply. "I have brought garments to replace yours, and food and drink for you and Master Thorn if he seeks it." He placed the items on my bed and departed hastily. Fear emanated from his being like light from a lighthouse.

I did not move toward the provisions.

_What is the meaning of his behavior?_

_When you were being tortured, I surmise, you let slip several, er, comments that the King chose to ignore. In the midst of the throes of your anguish, I would hazard a guess that you promised bloody vengeance and uttered dark oaths as to how you would see to his end. But I'm sure that the violence with which you spoke them alarmed his men. Even now rumors are circulating that you have turned on him._

_What use are such untruths? I find ourselves in a worse position than where we began. I am beginning to think that no one can put an end to Galbatorix._

_I may be but a hatchling in years, but something ancient lurks within me, perhaps the redolent, awakening spirits of my brethren. And as surely as I know that the Sun rises in the east, I know this, too: one day the King's reign will end, as everything in this world must. That will not be much solace to you, because we may not witness it, but find solace in the fact that I will never leave your side; I will weather everything under the skies with you._

_And I with you. With you is where I belong. For I love you as I have loved no one and nothing else._

_Except, Nasuada, _Thorn's lips curled into a teasing smile_, _but I remained steadfast. I was not one for maudlin displays, but this needed to be said, for these words and the courage with which to utter them might never leave my lips again.

I curled up against him. _Nay, not even she._

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><p><strong><em>You better review! You better!...pretty please? :)<em>  
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	20. Chapter 19, Voyeur

**_The Red Rider – the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN._**

I'm supposed to be doing my LSAT prep, but…well, it'll get done tomorrow.

I hope you guys like the last chapter, I was actually kind of proud of the way I reasoned out how the name of the Ancient Language works. It's actually very logical, right? Like since the language describes the true nature of all things, and knowing the name of anything gives you power over it, it would follow that knowing the true of the Ancient Language gives you power over all things.

And here we go. Another sort of introverted chapter. :\ but no worries, the next chapter will be looong one because it's about the Battle of the Jiet River so get excited!

_Xoxo —ei_

_******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******_

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><p><em>Chapter 19, Voyeur<em>

I filled a small basin in my room with water and set it aside to Thorn's bulk.

_Why do you insist on doing this to yourself?_

_Don't you think I ask myself that question a thousand times before I proceed?_

Thorn growled placidly. _I know you do because I can hear you arguing with yourself for hours on end before you, inevitably, give in to yourself. I might add that it is slowly driving me insane._

I ignored him.

"_Draumr kópa_." I uttered the scrying spell as her name echoed in my mind like a beautiful, haunting mantra. And slowly, the surface of the water lightened to reveal a scene:

Nasuada was garbed in a green silk dress. The silk shone and shimmered like the jeweled, downy breast of a hummingbird, in bright contrast to the sable shade of her skin. The sleeves of the dress ended in lace ruffs at her elbows. And then, a startling white against her verdant green dress, were bandages wrapped the length of her arms.

Of all the men and women assembled before her, she was the most distinguished, like a glowing emerald resting on a bed of dull, brown autumn leaves.

I wondered what the story was behind the wounds on her arms. _An assassination attempt?_ Perhaps, though I was hard-pressed to think of a single person who could get past her guard as well as Eragon and Saphira. _A battle, maybe? _No, the bandages were fresh to be from our battle.

I could not hear what she was saying over the fracas of those gathered, but the sight of her filled me with a wild, unbounded joy and I sat crouched over the basin for so long that my neck ached. I watched as she spoke to the nobles of the Varden gathered around. Eragon and Saphira were there as well. I could not see or here them, of course, as his anti-scrying spell prevented it, but their presence left a gap in the scene before me that I easily understood to be them.

Her striking face, when she was not speaking, seemed pensive as she looked among those gathered with her, as though she were troubled by the sight of them.

As the nobles left, her company lessened. There remained Eragon and Saphira, and Arya, who I could similarly not see or hear but sensed by the direction of Nasuada's conversation, and an elder man I did not recognize until she called him by his title: King Orrin, the sovereign of Surda. He had a weak chin and an exceptionally foolish gaze enscribed on his visage. I did not think much of him; it seemed obvious he was less of a warlord and ruled from an ivory tower.

It was difficult to understand their conversation as I could not hear any of Eragon, Saphira, or Arya's inputs so that Nasuada's responses were punctuated by long bouts of silence where the others responded. King Orrin, by contrast, was a long-winded fellow whose meandering responses seemed even less sensical in the absence of the respondents.

When he departed, she sighed and leaned her head against the back of the gilded chair.

I was shocked by how tired she appeared. Gone were her previous vitality and strength of presence. Gone was the fire from her eyes. She had, I realized, been pretending to be stronger than she was, perhaps to prevent others from challenging her.

I recalled how she had shouted at me about the difficulties she faced as her father's daughter.

_"It's taking me longer to recuperate than I had anticipated...some days are worse than others."_ She spoke at length about a Trial of the Long Knives, explaining the origin of her wounds. _"One rule of the Trial of the Long Knives is that you must allow your wounds to heal at their own pace, without magic. Otherwise, the contestants will not have endured the full measure of pain from their cuts."_

Thorn rolled his eyes. _You two are meant for each other. She is as foolhardy as you are._

Irritably, I shushed him.

Nasuada was laughing, the sound like jingling bells to my parched ears. "_What with you, Roran, and Murtagh, I seem to spend most of my time worrying about members of your family._"

In the reflective surface of the basin, I saw my countenance darken. Eragon had surely not wasted a moment to spread word of my new allegiance amongst the Varden.

_"You must admit it's startling how much bother the three of you have caused both the Empire and the Varden."_

_Perhaps it runs in your blood_, Thorn joked, amused.

Nasuada excused herself and retired to her quarters where her maid tended to her. Out of respect for her modesty, I did not watch, though Thorn had no such qualms: _Oh, pipe down, Murtagh, she is not even of my species!_

_"Is something wrong, milady?"_ I heard the maid ask.

_"I fear my musings will not let me rest, Farica_." I heard her respond, sounding weary beyond her years._ "Eragon's brother, Roran, insists on being wed as soon as possible. And considering my recent trial with Fadwar, I have been troubled."_

She sighed. _"I am sure you heard the absurd offers of betrothal Eragon has received. I trust he is perceptive enough not to accept any, though I am sure if he were not a Rider none of those women would deign to look twice at him. And certainly, Saphira would never let him fall prey to such vulturous witches. Of course, I've seen the way he watches Arya and know that he has eyes for no woman beyond her. And yet, I must admit, it hurts my pride not to be asked."_

My breath caught sharply.

_"My lady?"_

_"If women are power-hungry, the men around me certainly must be. And yet none of them have asked for my hand. Though if any did, I'm sure Jörmundur would flay them within an inch of their lives for their audacity. I wonder the reason for this. I cannot think the reason is that they all find me to unpleasant to look at. And even if they did, most are ambitious enough that such a paltry concession as appearance would not stop them."_

_"My lady, I can assure you that you quite hold your own among the women of Varden. You have the regal grace and visage of a true noble, as your father, and these vultures pale in comparison."_

_"Thank you, Farica. My other consideration is they have understood that even if I agreed to marry them, I would refuse to share my power. I have no intention of being a tyrant, but I would be remiss if I shared my power simply because I shared my bed, don't you think?"_

_"Don't you seek a husband, my lady? And children?"_

_"I suppose so. But I do not seek a master or a lord and that is exactly what I would be forced into if I am not careful about my choice. I admit, Eragon would be a fine choice if it were not for the fact his high-mindedness gives me a headache. Never have I known anyone who considered increased abstraction to be desirable. In any case, Eragon has no taste for politics, do you recall his speech?"_

Laughter emanated from the basin.

_"But worse still, I fear that I shall never find a man to suit me, to complete me, Farica. As for children, I will never have them as long as Galbatorix remains undefeated, to bring innocent children into a world such a this one...it would be selfish. I cannot marry a man I do not love. And even one whom I love, I could not marry, in good conscience, if I thought he could not wield power judiciously. Between these damned limitations, it is more likely than not than I shall remain the celibate queen of our resistance."_

She sounded so despondent and, finally unable to bear it, I dragged my eyes back to the surface of the basin where Nasuada's face glimmered in the dimness of her room.

_"Goodnight, Farica."_

The maid curtsied._ "Goodnight, milady." _And she disappeared from view.

"_What a pity it is. I thought I had found someone who surpassed my expectations, but he has abandoned me. And now, I fear he is worse than dead."_

I remained quite still for a moment, then I seized the basin and hurled it against the wall where it shattered into a heap of fine shards.

_Murtagh!_

_Do not speak to me!_

I was suddenly filled with an explosion of energy and overwhelming sense of emotion that I could scarcely stand it. I needed to get out, out of the castle and escape to where this sense of shame and longing could not find me.

But Thorn's forelimb snaked quickly through the opening in my room and pinned me to the wall gently.

_Murtagh, come to your senses! You cannot fall to pieces at every mention of Nasuada. As this futile war progresses, it becomes more and more likely than Galbatorix will order you to kill her or worse. If he suspects your weakness, he will extort everything he can from you and we will never escape him. _His tone softened. _Take heart, perhaps she spoke not of you, but some other._

_I don't know which ought to trouble me more: if she spoke referring to me or if she did not._

Slowly, Thorn released me. I assured him I would not succumb to my emotions so foolishly again. He was right, I had to control myself. To be so free with my sentiments was putting him in harm's way as well.

But I understood Nasuada's fears perfectly, for I was in a similar quandary: how could I bear to be with her or any woman who could not understand and forgive my past? They would find me to be angry, volatile, and distant.

_You know, Thorn, when I close my eyes, I cannot sleep because the blinding white snow of the day I saw my parents' tomb is so bright in my mind I can't bear it. Sometimes I hear the dragons of my eldunarya whispering, keening, roaring in my mind. I hear the cries of men and the scent of blood from all those I have slain so thick in the air it might be infused into my skin. I fear I am going mad then, that I am but stone's throw from turning into the King himself._

I opened the shallow chiffonier aside my bed and drew out my father's sword. I had not looked at it since I had taken it from Eragon.

_I did not ever believe I would see this sword again, let alone that I would wield it._

It was a comely weapon: its pommel was tear-drop shaped, set with a ruby the size of a small egg, which glittered like Thorn's eyes even in the fading light of day. The hilt was wrapped with silver wire with a gilded guard. The sheath was the color of red wine, made of leather, and etched with an unfamiliar symbol. I drew the sword. The blade itself was a deep bloody, crimson. The same strange rune was inscribed on the center of the sword.

I held the blade aloft as if I were preparing to engage a foe and looked across my room to my looking glass. It was as if I was seeing my father anew. In the evening light, my eyes appeared to glow red as it they held some nefarious evil.

But I was not evil.

I was a victim, was I not?

_No one forced me to kill Hrothgar, _I reminded myself.

_We are not evil, _Thorn insisted. _We do what we must to remain alive, to remain together, and to remain in control of ourselves. It is easy for Eragon who is his own master to cast stones of judgment on us, but what does he know?_

I sighed, throwing the sword aside and settling back against Thorn's bulk.

_What would I do without you, friend of my heart?_

_You should never have to answer such a query._

I laughed, it was a wild, uncontrolled sound, with a shadow of a sob hidden within it.

_We have been in the crosshairs for so long. Do you ever think what you might do if one day we are freed from the King's grasp—if he is defeated and we are not condemned to death for my treachery?_

_Oh, yes. I think about it everyday. I would take you in my claws and carry you away from this cruel, unforgiving land and fly until Alagaësia disappeared, until your unbounded fury at your circumstances had cooled, until we could both forget the horrors we have had to endure._

_And perhaps afterwards, we could travel the world, see its wonders. Perhaps, she would assent to accompany us._

_If you insist that Nasuada must accompany, I must insist that you find me a female dragon to accompany me._

_How can you expect me to do such a thing? There is only one remaining egg and it is male. _

_How you do so is entirely none of my concern, but you must. I say, I did think Saphira appeared rather fond of me in our last meeting._

_So fond that she injured you!_

_You misunderstood. She merely needed an excuse to approach me. The coupling practices of dragon are esoteric and complicated, too much so for a mere human to understand._

_I'm sure you are right. Perhaps, in our next encounter she will prove the strength of her affections for you by attempting to kill you._

Thorn sniffed petulantly. _Perhaps._

I smiled. And then, with a jolt, Nasuada's words came back to me: _"Eragon's brother, Roran, insists on being wed as soon as possible." _The image of myself standing before a woman garbed in white sprang to mind. Would I live long enough to see that day? And even if I did, would that woman be Nasuada? Would it be someone else? Or no one at all?

Thorn interrupted my dismal musings, _One point in particular bothers me in what we saw. You would note that both Eragon and Saphira employs magic to protect themselves from scrying eyes. And the elf does the same, presumably so that unfriendly eyes do not uncover their plans, knowledge, and weaknesses. Why then does Nasuada not employ such means. Surely, she has magicians in her service competent enough to cast such a spell. And as the leader of resistance, it seems clear that her words ought to be reserved for her intended subjects. Then, I wonder if there is a reason she has refused such a spell…_

_As if she intends for me to hear her words?_

_Perhaps._

And then, he opened his mind to me, removing every barrier around his consciousness so that we might meld our minds together without reservations. Even in a situation as dark as ours, we found comfort in never truly having to be alone. Like two raging floods meeting seamlessly and dissolving utterly into another, he enveloped me within the folds of his thoughts, holding on to each other with an intimacy no physical embrace could match.

_Every night I consider a future where we do not have to submit the caprices of a bedlamite King and his mad dragon and every morn I wake and see that it has not come true and my heart breaks anew; but still every night I dream..._

And I saw as he saw:

_He flapped and he flapped until we rose above the unreachable peaks of the Beor Mountains. These vast peaks we circled for a time, gazing down at all of Alagaësia laid out before us, like so many appliqués on a patchwork quilt. __Then he began to flap his wings again flapping again, higher, higher to where the sky met the horizon._

_We soared past the glaring moon, until we hung beside only the silver stars that drifted along in the inky sky, masters of the bright world below. Our eyes looked toward the heavens, and with outstretched, child's fingers, we touched the faces of the gods._

_And Thorn, he cried out, _I AM FREE!_  
><em>

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><p><strong><em>Drop me a review <em>**✌**  
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	21. Chapter 20, Hope

_**The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN.**_

_WOAH! We're at 20 chapters! That is such a huge deal and I'm so happy and thankful to have such dedicated readers and reviewers. I wanted to finish this story by this summer, but that clearly did not happen so I'm aiming for Christmas now. Don't forget to review!_

_A few people have been confused by the way Murtagh feels about his father: at times, he hates his father, but at other times, he seems to be becoming him, and at other times he seems to replace him as Galbtorix's right hand man._

_I don't really have a straight answer to this, because honestly, I think it's all three depending on the situation. Murtagh feels no love for his father, but his hate is also not his defining feeling either, because although his experience with his father was horrible, it was also limited. He really didn't know his father. But he knows that because of his father, he himself is scorned and hated and sometimes he lashes out at this unfairness by, in a way, giving up and emulating his father. As if, he's sort of saying the world, "If you really think I'm my father, I'll show you by being just as bad as him." And even this aside, he doesn't want to fall into his father's shadow so he's also trying to distinguish himself form his father. He's comes to term with the fact that he can't be good because he's being coerced by Galbatorix, so he's not trying to be good. He's trying to be bad in a different way…not necessarily less bad or more, just different._

_Does that even make sense?_

_Xoxo —ei_

__******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******__

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><p>Chapter 20, Hope<p>

"You seem to laboring under a certain delusion. So allow me to make myself _absolutely_ clear. I share _nothing_ in common with that trusting fool Ajihad."

The King looked beadily from Thorn to me, his eyes narrowed in a cold fury that seemed to chill the very air that surrounded us.

"Make no mistake. I will not tolerate the slightest deviation from my orders. Take care not to test my forbearance again for you will find my patience very much lacking. Now—_get out of my sight._"

I parted with Thorn at the castle entrance so that I could visit the armory before we departed. The chainmail I had worn had disintegrated under the wrath of Zar'roc at Eragon's hand. But now, I held the Rider's sword, I thought it only fitting that I was garbed in deserving mail.

The quartermaster blanched when I entered the armory, his eyes haunted and beleaguered, like those of a cornered animal. The servants were as afraid of me as they were of Galbatorix. They did not speak to me voluntarily lest I addressed them first. I had to tried to earn their favor by being courteous, hoping that winning their loyalty might help me one day plot against the King, but they were all too afraid to do much more than mumble a terrified "Yes, sir" or "No, sir."

"_Argetlam_, what may I do for you?"

"I wanted to—" I hesitated, distracted.

He had called me _Argetlam._ In essence, correct—it meant, "silver hand." But during my brief time in Tronjheim, the dwarves had called Eragon by the honorific as well as Shur'tugal. And after the battle under Farthen Dûr, they had called him Shadeslayer.

They were his titles, not mine.

Traditionally, I should have been called by my father's surname, Morzansson, but this was even more abhorrent to me more than _Argetlam. _And_ Shur'tugal _was reserved for those Riders sanctioned by the old order, which I was undoubtedly not.

I was part of Forsworn now, and didn't that require a bolder, more irreverent moniker?

And yet, calling myself Kingkiller seemed ostentatious. And I took no pride in the fact that I had killed Hrothgar. Afterall, for the briefest of moments, Orik had been my unlikely champion; and if I had not been kidnapped, we might have been friends.

"_Argetlam_?"

The quartermaster stood in front of me, looking bewildered, nervous, and afraid.

I glanced down at my father's sword, clenched in my hand. The ruby set in the handle gleamed blood-red like the iridescent irises of Thorn's eyes, and seemed, somehow, vengeful and bloodthirsty—if a sword could convey such intentions.

I had been sired by a monster, but if I was determined to deny him, I needed to distance myself from him entirely.

_Morzan may be my parent, but he is not my father. Tornac was my father. He raised me. He taught everything I know. I am who I am because of him. I would not burnish Morzan's repugnant memory by taking his name._

And yet, I could not in good conscience take Tornac's son, knowing that I had been the cause of his death, not having carried out his last rites, fleeing like a coward when he had fallen. I did not have the honor of bearing his name.

And I would sooner have swallowed a wineskin of Seithr oil than take Galbatorix' name as mine own.

"Do not call me by that title. From now of on, when you address me, you will address me as Murtagh Miserysson. I am the son of misery and she we shall wreak upon all our foes."

The quartermaster paled. "Yes, my lord. Whatever pleases you."

"Good. Now, bring me my father's mail. No—wait!" I paused. "When I visited earlier I saw a suit of mail that shone bright like obsidian, bring that to me."

He ran to fetch it.

The mail was pitch black and he helped me fit it over my tunic and leggings. The chain links I reinforced with magic so that they moved fluidly with my body's movements. But when he offered me a helm, I refused.

"The helm, my lord?"

"No. I want them to see my face. To see the face that will doom them. To see the one they shunned all this time, only for me to rise up more powerful than they could ever have predicted. This world has shown me little kindness, and it shall pay a hundredfold in blood spilt for it and where blood spills a new order will be sown and rise. Bards will sing of it."

Behind the quartermaster, there was a small commotion as a stack of neatly stacked shields suddenly toppled to the stone floor with a series of loud thuds. As they fell, they revealed a young girl standing timidly behind them.

The quartermaster blanching a most impressive white.

"Master, I am sorry—please forgive her—she is but a child. She does not know—come here child!"

The child scampered to his side and he pushed her behind his body as if to shield her from me, his face paling beyond compare.

"Your daughter?"

"Yes, my lord. Please understand—she is young and—"

"Come here, girl."

"Oh, master, please do not punish her! Punish me instead, I beg of you—"

I shot him a look that quelled his babbling and motioned the girl to come forward. She came shyly out from behind her father. She could not have been more than four or five years old. She seemed surprisingly unafraid as she approached.

She stopped before me, her large, silver doe-like eyes peering up at me with an almost insolent curiosity.

I knelt before her.

"Do you know who I am?"

She nodded. "You're the prince!" She piped.

I laughed. "Yes, I suppose I am. My name is Murtagh. But, you know, the armory is no place for a little girl to be. Where is your mother?"

"Cantos." Came the pert reply.

I glanced at her father. His despondent eyes confirmed the truth.

I did not know what to say to her. Perhaps, _You will be happy to know I was almost involved in the massacre that probably killed your mother, but luckily I managed to avoid carrying it out myself._

"If I am the prince, then you must be the princess of this castle, are you not?"

She looked to her father who appeared as if he might faint for fear and then she shrugged.

"No? Well, perhaps this will convince you." I reached behind her ear and, summoning the magic, whispered a few words, and plucked a single white rose from thin air and showed it to her.

"Only a princess wears a rose in her hair…"

"…so I must be a princess!" She finished jubilantly.

"Well then, princess, I wonder if you will dine with me when I return from battle. Whatever you like to eat we shall have. Roast duck, pudding, trifle, perhaps? I am sure Thorn will assent as well, but now I must take your leave, princess."

She was smiling brightly and the sight warmed my heart. Quick as a little bird, she darted forward and kissed my cheek.

Her father yanked her away with a horrified gasp.

"Fly you high!" She called after me as I strode from the armory.

_What in the name of the skies above was all of that?_

_I don't half-know myself what came over me…_

Thorn chuckled. _Ah, Murtagh, you don a heart of stone when you face our foes, but you cannot hide from me that what truly lies in your chest is a lump of butter._

_Please, feel emboldened to announce this our enemies. I'm sure that will strike fear in their hearts._

-x-

Thorn and I did not speak when we had set off for the Burning Plains where we had previously left Eragon. We were both gripped by a grim sobriety about our impending task.

The truth staunchly remained: we had no more options.

I could only hope Eragon would not make our task more unpleasant than it had to be.

The soldiers had already been dispatched—two hundred and ninety of them, a disarmingly small number, but just as deadly as our previous force several thousand strong: Galbatorix had imbued all of them with a spell that healed them of their ability to sense pain—described by one as a gentle tickling sensation—robbing them of their humanity.

I was glad not to have to march in their midst. The eerie smiles plastered across their unfeeling faces, their cold laughs, utterly devoid of mirth—all of it unnerved me. It was unnatural, against the order of the world.

The wind whipped my hair about as we flew. The nascent fog over the plains obscured us from view.

I reached out with my mind to the page at the rear of the juggernaut of ships that ferried the undead troops across the Jiet River and conveyed to him that he should give notice and due fanfare for our arrival.

_Is that wise? Giving Eragon and his allies notice of our arrival. I'm sure after our previous affray he has taken measures to ensure he will not lose again so utterly. Why give him time to strategize?_

_I don't care. Unless, he has an army of elves, he stands no chance against us. I will not ride into battle like a coward, cravenly sneaking around my enemies. I ride proud and strong and with you. It is true that we ride under the King's flag, but that is no reason to degrade ourselves for it._

A single horn rang out across the land, unnaturally loud, announcing us.

Then again.

And again.

There was a silence all around.

And then, war-drums began to beat as the Varden responded to our impertinent declaration.

Five sleek boats, black as pitch, had landed upon the bank of the Jiet River. From the boats there issued the exanimate imperial troops, each equipped with a maniacal smile while under the sun, swords, spears, shields, helmets, and mail ringlets caught and reflected the light, throwing cascades of twinkling, ominously shimmering lights to the ground with every movement.

The bilious currents of milky-white water of the Jiet River disappeared beneath us, giving way to the parched earth of the Burning Plains. As we cleared the water, and the tops of a stunted copse of trees, the fog cleared, revealing the Varden roughly two miles away.

The piercing horn of the imperial page sounded again.

I could see Eragon now, a still figure next to the luminous cerulean bulk that was Saphira and I raised my father's sword above my head and roared, a cry that was echoed a hundredfold by Thorn, his blazing eyes red as a iron hot to forge, red as a burning ember of hate and anger, red in anticipation of the blood of our enemies.

With a flash of down-swept wings, a jolt of acceleration, a blast of swirling air, Saphira took to the air. But instead of approaching us, she turned away toward the anterior of Varden encampment.

There was but a mile separating us now.

A trumpet sounded and a width of cavalry assembled for a charge. The trumpet was quickly echoed a wailing bellow.

_The Urgals. I have never fought an Urgal._

_I have, but I doubt we will have to face them ourselves. I'm sure the empire's troops will suit the task nicely._

We watched as the dark-skinned mass joined a gathered group of horsemen, the flat-footed Urgals rising to the height of the cavalry without effort.

The gate was opened and with a cry, the horsemen, flanked by the Urgals, broke into an earth-shattering trot and descended onto the plain, plumes of dust enveloping them, obscuring the arrowhead-shaped formation from view.

_They have been deceived. How simple it was. I rather though they might present a challenge, but they insist on underestimating Galbatorix again and again._

As we began to drift over the rear of the Imperial army, wind gusted toward us, carrying with it the screams of dying men and horses, the unsettling sound of metal scraping over metal, the clink of swords glancing off helmets, the dull impact of spears on shields, and, underlying it all, a horrible mirthless, soulless laughter.

I shivered.

_Steel yourself. We cannot afford to be merciful this time, Murtagh. I know you feel some sympathy for the resistance, but we cannot continue to bear their burden on our backs. I admit I cannot bear to watch you punish for my reluctance to overrule you, but I will not sit by idly—_

_This time, we show no mercy, Thorn. I fly with you. And only you._

_Excelsior, my Rider._

"ERAGON!" My voice raged across the tormented landscape.

Thorn hung motionless in the sky, cupping the air with the translucent membranes, so that we seemed to address none but our direct opponents, and even across the space, our eyes seemed to meet.

"I SEE YOUR THERE, HIDING BEHIND NASUADA'S SKIRTS, LIKE A CHILD. COME FIGHT ME, ERAGON! IT IS YOUR DESTINY, OR ARE YOU A COWARD, SHADESLAYER?"

Saphira roared in response, her entire body tensing, catlike on the embankment. She opened her gigantic maws and released a jet of crackling blue fire. Then, she launched herself off the embankment.

Thorn did not attack, allowing Saphira to rise to our level unmolested, so that we balanced on the thermals, on tenterhooks before each other. Saphira's muzzle was contorted into a hideous snarl that disfigured her entire visage.

And finally, Eragon ducked out from behind Saphira's neck so that we could see him.

And for a moment, I marveling that this boy, several years my junior, my brother, my old companion could be the source of such agony, reaching inside me to the hatred that lay dormant in me at all times and lashed out, at him, at the world.

This debt would have to be paid and it would be paid in blood.

I called to him: "You and Saphira have caused us a great deal of pain, Eragon. Galbatorix was furious with us for letting you go. And after the two of you killed the Ra'zac, he was so angry, he slew five of his servants and then turned his wrath upon Thorn and me. We have both suffered horribly on account of you. We shall not do so again."

"Wait!" Eragon cried across the gulf between us. "I know of a way you can both free yourselves of your oaths to Galbatorix."

"It is not possible!" I snarled.

"IT IS!" He shouted urgently. "Allow me to explain!"

_It is a ploy,_ I thought.

_Perhaps. Most likely so. But still, it cannot hurt to hear him out._

_Galbatorix will punish us! This time he will hurt you and that I cannot bear—_

_No, because we will still take him captive. I doubt there is any truth to his words, and even if there is, it is undoubtedly not an immediate solution. But if there is any grain of sincerity to it, we may mull it and refine it to a proper plan in time._

_No! I can't allow it. Galbatorix will—_

_Murtagh, we must always search for a solution. If we do not, it means we have given up on escaping our situation and to do so would be to admit that our lives are not worth fighting for and thus not worth living._

"Blast you, Eragon," I snapped. "Blast you for baiting us with this. We had already made peace with our lot, and you have to tantalize us with the specter of a hope we had abandoned. If this proves to be a false hope, brother, I swear I'll cut off your right hand before we present you to Galbatorix…you won't need it for what you will be doing in Urû'baen."

A spasm of anger crossed Eragon's face briefly, but he lowered the falchion and said, "Galbatorix would not have told you, but when I was among the elves, I learned that if your personality changes, so does your true name in the ancient language. Who you are isn't cast in iron, Murtagh! If you and Thorn can change something about yourselves, your oaths will no longer bind you, and Galbatorix will lose his hold on you."

"Why did you not mention this before?" I demanded.

Eragon laughed hollowly. "I was otherwise occupied at the time of our previous encounter."

_Can this be true?_

Briefly, I saw with Thorn what our lives might be to be free. Ours to command, to come or stay or go as we wished. To fly, to become one—to heal the perverted union Galbatorix had insinuated himself into.

"We are not evil!" I cried. "I've done the best I could under the circumstances. I doubt you would have survived as well as I did if our mother had seen fit to leave you in Urû'baen and hide me in Carvahall."

"Perhaps not."

I struck my fist against my breastplate forcefully. "Ha! You think too much of yourself, _Argetlam_," I said scornfully. "No man has had to endure the terrible burdens I have carried all my life. How am I to follow your advice? If I am already a good man, if I have already done as well as could be expected, how can I change? Must I become worse than I am? Must I embrace Galbatorix's darkness in order to free myself of it? That hardly seems like a reasonable solution. If I succeeded in so altering my identity, you would not like who I had become, and you would curse me as strongly as you curse Galbatorix now."

"You do not have to become better or worse than you are now, only different. There are many kinds of people in the world and many ways to behave honorably. Look upon someone whom you admire but who has chosen paths other than your own through life and model your actions upon his. It may take a while, but if you can shift your personality enough, you can leave Galbatorix, and you can leave the Empire, and you and Thorn could join us in the Varden, where you would be free to do as you wish."

To speak of joining the Varden was foolishness and naiveté on his part, but I could not help but admit that his suggestion intrigued me, tantalized us.

"I'm asking you to allow yourself to grow into something other than you are now. It's a difficult thing to do, I know, but people remake themselves all the time. Let go of your anger, for one, and you can turn your back on Galbatorix once and for all."

I could no sooner separate myself from Thorn than let go of my anger. It was an extricable part of me, having dogged my every step life long.

"Let go of my anger?" I brayed with laughter. "I'll let go of my anger when you forget yours over the Empire's role in the death of your uncle and Brom, and the razing of your farm. Anger defines us, Eragon, and without it, you and I would not be here today. You are asking us to be that which we are not. If Thorn and I are to save ourselves, we must destroy our current identities? Your cure is worse than our affliction."

I took up Zar'roc again.

"And yet, the concept intrigues. Thorn and I will study it. Perhaps we can work on it together when we are in Urû'baen. That is, if the king permits us to be alone with each other. Of course, he may decide to keep us permanently separated. I would if I were in his position."

Eragon's face-hardened. "You seem to be laboring under the delusion that we will—what is the phrase? 'Come quietly'."

"Your baseless bravado cheers me brother. It has been exhausting weathering Galbatorix by ourselves. I look forward to seeing the spleen he will vent upon you. It will make for a nice change." My fingers wrapped around Zar'roc. "But Thorn and I will not be returning alone this day. Even if we wanted to, Thorn and I could not change who we are in an instant. Until such time as we may have that opportunity, we shall remain beholden to Galbatorix, and he has ordered us, in no uncertain terms, to bring him the two of you. Neither of us is willing to brave the king's displeasure again, not for the likes of you."

A spurt of flames escaped from between Saphira's teeth.

But Eragon stayed his apparent anger. "Please, Murtagh, Thorn, will you not at least try what I've suggested? Have you no desire to resist Galbatorix? You will never cast off your chains unless you are willing to defy him!"

"You underestimate Galbatorix, Eragon," I said flatly. "He has been creating name-slaves for over a hundred years, since he recruited our father. Do you think he is unaware that a person's true name may vary over the course of his life? He is sure to have taken precautions against that eventuality. If my true name were to change this very moment, or Thorn's, most likely it would trigger a spell that would alert Galbatorix to the change and force us to return to him in Urû'baen so he could bind us to him again."

_Do you really think so?_

_If Eragon has thought of it, surely Galbatorix had. Eragon is hardly a master magician whereas Galbatorix has devoted his life to the careful scrutiny of the Ancient Language._

"He knows our true names, Eragon. He is with prodigious skill and no conscience. We are his slaves forever." I wonder if he could hear the horrible resignation in my voice. And underneath it the fear that I was right and we were lost. "We have nothing left but one another and in such circumstances you must be willing to protect yourself and what you cherish, no matter what the cost."

"But he could only guess your new names."

"He is most adept at the practice. You know how well guarded my mind is and yet he pierced its protections with hardly a proper effort." I unsheathed Zar'roc. "We will take your suggestion under consideration. We may make use of your suggestion in the future, but only after careful study and preparation, so that Thorn and I do not regain our freedom only to have Galbatorix steal it back from us directly afterward." Zar'roc iridescent blade shimmered enticingly in the hazy air. "At present, we have no choice but to take you with us to Urû'baen. Will you go peacefully?"

"I would sooner tear out my own heart!"

"So be it!"

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><p><em><strong>Review. You know you want to! ;) Also, happy Thanksgiving and a thrifty Black Friday to you!<strong>_


	22. Chapter 21, Vengeance

**_The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN._**

_I feel terrible! I really did not intend to keep you waiting this long! I was going to wait until the chapter was a bit longer, but I felt badly for not posting._

_By the way, I have two new fics up (that's what I was doing in the meantime), although they're Harry Potter fics, which I've never done before, so I'm pretty nervous and excited about them, so I'd love to hear from you guys about those as well._

_But we return to Brinsingr, and the battle is afoot and at hand! And awing, I suppose._

_Xoxo —ei_

__******Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.******__

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><p>Chapter 21, Vengeance<p>

Thorn took off. He climbed through the air without effort, his wings spanning almost blindingly bright in the sky, his keening echoing for as far as I could hear.

As we were met, Saphira dipped forward, her wings still parallel with the dust-smeared ground and struck Thorn across his left side with her tail just as he sailed over her, breaking his wing in five separate places.

The jagged ends of Thorn's hollow flight bones pierced his hide and stuck out between his flashing scales. Globules of steaming dragon blood rained down upon the three of us, scorching my skin where they made contact.

Thorn's roar died as his vision flickered white.

_Hang back._

As he tried desperately to stay aflight, I removed an eldunarya from my satchel and pressed it to Thorn's shoulder.

I had imbued it with a healing spell beforehand. I had cast a spell on it prior to the battle, so that if anyone should catch a glimpse, it would simply like a large ruby.

Galbatorix had given a strict order that under no circumstances we were not to disclose that we held euldunarya. I did not know what benefit that knowledge could give Eragon when eldunarya were not lying around the desert to be had, but agreed on the precept that less was more and enough.

The ruby flared and glowed incandescent and Thorn's broken wing jerked and spasmed as his bones snapped back in place, muscles and tendons rippling as the tears in them vanished.

We had begun to fall but as he was healed, Thorn began to ascend, a new vengeance in his mind that surged through to me as well, searing the air in front of him with a boiling spear of sullen red fire.

Saphira dove at us, spiraling around the towering flames. She snapped at Thorn's neck and raked his torso with her front claws. As she passed us, the edge of her cerulean wing clipped me, knocking me aside as I reached round with my sword to slash up a three-foot rent in the membrane of her wing.

She hissed, spurting a few tongues of flame, and kicked away from the two of us. They began to descend, but before long the cut in Saphira's wing ceased weeping tears of blood and the raw edges of the delicate cerulean membrane flowed together without a scar—she rose lazily up to meet us again.

_I did not think Eragon would waste energy to heal a flesh wound, considering how to immeasurably we outrank him._

_I sense that it comes through him and yet without him. How can that be?_

_Do you think Eragon may have secured eldunarya of his own? _And for the first time, I felt Thorn tremble in fear. _We cannot use fatal force because of our vows to Galbatorix, but Eragon may have no such qualms. _

_I doubt it. Where would he retrieve them from? And even if he has, he could not match us._

_So why are they not pursuing us?_

We had evaded them to the west, but Saphira had not pursued us. Perhaps, she was trying to stay her strength without wasting it on aerial maneuvers.

So, reluctant and suspicious, we circled up and around until we held our ground a good thousand feet above her shimmering, shaking bulk. And then, folding his wings tightly against his body, Thorn plummeted like a stone, flames flickering in his open maw, his ivory talons outstretched as we hurtled toward our enemies.

The air thinned.

My vision tunneled.

Despite the cold, quick air drawing tears like knives, I forced myself to keep my eyes open until—_BOOM_!—The sound was deafening—the sound of two incandescent meteors colliding, the sound of a species dying, the sound of two Riders fighting for life and liberty, the sound of a single man's madness.

The force of the impact echoed through my body, seeming to jar every single one of my bones out of their sockets. I forced myself to remain upright even as my body seemed to want to dismantle itself.

Eragon, looking rather green, had slumped forward as Saphira corkscrewed. Thorn battered her exposed belly while his forelegs mauled her with blood-drenched claws.

Then, quite suddenly, I saw Eragon raise himself and with both hands hack at Thorn's legs, mere feet away from him. There was a cascade of scales and then Thorn's anguished roar as Eragon's sword found sinew.

Snarling, Thorn disengaged from Saphira and veered to the right, sending a blast of fire back at them as I took out the stone again to heal him.

He was being careless. I had told Thorn I would heal him and he knew I had the power on me, so he was taking undue chances, egged on by his mounting frustration from her hits, carrying out dangerous maneuvers and rigmaroles we hadn't yet perfected.

Thorn again flung himself at Saphira, his rage mounting, grappling with her as we plummeted in sickening lurches toward the gray tents of the Varden. Saphira managed to clamp her teeth on the horned crest that projected from the rear of Thorn's head, even as points of bone punctured her tongue. The two dragons drifted downward side by side, like a pair of interlocked leaves as Thorn wrestled to free himself.

The ground rushed up at us.

Eragon leaned over and grunted as he slashed crosswise at my shoulder right shoulder, catching himself in the heart of my shield.

Baring my teeth, I yanked the shield aside so that his falchion was loosened from its width and parried back, the blade humming and whistling ominously through the air.

The blade struck him on the cusp of his shoulder. Pressing the attack, I lashed out at him, clipping his wrist, stabbing through the fringe of his mail hauberk and into his left hip. The tip of Zar'roc embedded itself in bone.

Eragon pulled back as a spasm of pain twisted his feature and then, with a yell, he lunged forward again. Feinting toward my right, he whipped the falchion round and sliced across my cheek. Blood bloomed from the wound and I could taste it in my mouth, on my tongue, coloring my teeth.

"You—should have—worn—a helmet," Eragon spat in several breaths.

I smirked, but before I could reach him, Saphira had finally released Thorn. We were but a few hundred feet from the solid ground below, so that Thorn spun away in a series of spiraling upwards maneuvers before we could exchange any more blows into a dense cloud that obscured everything from view.

As the wind and cumulous spray whipped around me, I gingerly touched the cut on my face. The left side of my mouth had been split further open into a horrible, lurid Chelsea smile.

Suddenly, the cold, misty atmosphere turned to scorching, sweltering steam.

_Behind us!_

But before he could turn, Saphira had emerged from the rear and, roaring in triumph, dropped upon us and seized Thorn by the flanks, sinking her claws deep into his thighs and along his spine. She snaked her head forward, caught Thorn's left wing in her mouth, and clamped down with the sultry-sickening _snick_ of razor-sharp teeth slicing through meat.

Thorn writhed and screamed, a terrible, horrible, primal scream that I had never heard him emit, and I felt an intolerable pain echo along into me.

With a roar that split my mouth open further, I raised Zar'roc and allowed the power of the eldunarya to finally flow through me, above the turmoil of my own turbulent thoughts. Screaming, hissing, buzzing dragon-demons attempted to consume me as I focused the immense energy I carried in my satchel.

My vision tunneled as I directed the energy into a single needlepoint by which I methodically pierced the armor of Eragon's consciousness. I could sense him desperately focused, alternatively safeguarding and attacking me when he could manage it.

The hum of the ebullient energy that buzzed through me grew until I felt I was almost vibrating with it.

Eragon had to be depleted by now, but in spite of the way his face turned gray with effort the magic emanating from him did not slow. If I had been given free reign, I would have summoned more power and crushed him like a bug in an instant.

But in addition, to swearing oaths to not use fatal force, Galbatorix had forced to agree to use a minimal amount of my eldunaya's power. Any more would be suspect, he had argued. And any hint at the source of my power or how much I truly had might be enough to trigger a suicide attempt on Eragon's part, if he decided he would rather die than be taken alive.

My pulse raced as the strength surged through me, as with each continuing drop of magic I poured into our contest, I knew I was near my limit, all the while as I attempted to besiege his mind and he mine.

At times, I felt him waver and suddenly diminish, only to be pulled through as if some third-party had stepped up to aid him.

_Do you feel that?_

_Yes! Could it be?_

And, suddenly, just like that, the magic was stretched tight like a leather skein—tighter, _tighter_—before it snapped; the connection was broken and my assault was terminated.

Saphira released Thorn and pushed herself away from us, raising her wings and flapping laboriously.

_Let them go, Murtagh! Our vows cannot be ignored for a moment more._

As part of enforcing our oaths, Galbatorix had established an austere system of punishments; for any of my transgressions, Thorn would suffer as I would for any of his. And though we learned to delay our obedience, resisting our oaths, cost the other dearly—in breathlessness, nausea, dizziness, and other complaints that compounded the longer we defied him.

As a result, we could never hold out for long. Even a few minutes were a desperate struggle.

Thorn winged his way up the Jiet River, toward Galbatorix's army some miles distant hanging low in the sky, as I healed his wounds.

_Do you think the King will be angry?_

_I would be surprised if he is not. However, I do not fear his wrath. I would be very much amiss if he does find our account of the battle very, _very_ telling._

There was a loud screech behind us and we turned to see Saphira letting loose a great cloud of fire, Eragon waving his sword in triumph above his head.

_Pride before fall._

_We can let them have this victory, I think; the Varden has such few occasions to celebrate._

Thorn let out a great clap of laughter, releasing an answering plume of fire.

_Do you think that will be so? They managed to best us this instance. Perhaps they will be even stronger in time to come._

_Perhaps. I suspect this was little more than a fluke. But at least this will teach Galbatorix a lesson that he cannot handicap us in battle. He will likely loosen our vows and in light of that, we may be able to use Eragon's advice to benefit._

Below us now were the mounds of corpse from the erstwhile battle between the painless soldiers and the Varden. The mounds seemed unnaturally high though I could not see any Imperial troops standing. The Varden had at least smote Galabtorix' troops though it had cost them dearly.

_It is interesting._

_That, though your fight is with Eragon and Saphira, you called out Nasuada as well. I was wondering when she would reappear._

_It was the exuberance of the moment, nothing more._

_Certainly, if you say so._

Thorn was silent for a moment.

_I should warn you, if you keep bringing her up in the heat of battle, it won't just be Galbatorix that discovers your secret._

_I am aware and I would thank you to hold your tongue._

_As you wish, _he said smugly.

The air as we left the Burning Plain had turned cool and clear and soothed my tired muscles and as we reached the capital, I felt the sun at my back, illuminating my damned path home. There was nowhere to hide from my demons.

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><p><em><strong>Review. You know you want to! ;) Also, happy Thanksgiving and a thrifty Black Friday to you!<strong>_


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